


Shall We Dance, My Dear?

by freckleslikeconstellations



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drugs, F/M, Lots of drama, Mycroft struggles with his feelings, Reader has a very protective big brother, Sex, Sherlock has a lot to say, lots of fluff, no rock and roll though, some strong language, this is set before the TV show begins, wrong number fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 23:39:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 100,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4157334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckleslikeconstellations/pseuds/freckleslikeconstellations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <strong>If you ever wrote down our story F/N how do you think it would start?</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <em>Hmm, like this maybe: Once upon a time there was a tentative beginning.</em></p><p> </p><p>  <strong>But then came everything else.</strong></p><p> </p><p>  <em>The story.</em></p><p> </p><p>  <strong>The fireworks.</strong></p><p> </p><p>  <em>The random questions.</em></p><p> </p><p>  <strong>The red velvet cake.</strong></p><p> </p><p>  <em>Lots of cake yes.</em></p><p> </p><p>  <strong>The rush of emotions amongst other...pleasantries.</strong></p><p> </p><p>  <em>Lots of those too. Though I think that's a good enough preview of our story, don't you?</em></p><p> </p><p>  <strong>In that case shall we dance, my dear?</strong></p><p> </p><p>  <em>Yes, I think we shall Mr Holmes.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Bet

**Author's Note:**

> Or the one where it all begins.

**25th April 5:35pm**

 

The piece of paper flutters in front of you as you settle it down on the small table beside the phone. 

 

Then you lift the phone out of its cradle, bow your head to dial the number, check it’s correct, push a strand of h/c hair out of your face and press the phone to your ear. 

 

*

 

Not a huge distance away in the same city thirty-year-old Mycroft Holmes stirs out of his thought as his phone vibrates on the table in the Diogenes Club. 

 

He picks the phone up with long, slender fingers as he stands and strides out of the room, down a small hallway to the Strangers Room. There he checks the number and sees that it is one that he doesn't recognize. He hasn't had one of those in six hundred and twelve days. 

 

So, “Mycroft Holmes speaking,” he answers, whilst he brushes invisible dust from his waistcoat even though whoever is on the line cannot see him. 

 

“Oh, um, hi,” a female voice says and Mycroft deduces from that, that she is nervous amongst other things, “It’s about the ballroom dance lessons,” she continues and that makes his thoughts halt completely in their tracks. For what the deuce is she on about?

 

But she doesn't explain any further so finally after a long, pregnant pause he replies a little stiffly, “I think you have the wrong number.”

 

*

 

You are panicking now. You’d tapped in the right number you were sure of it. You’d even double-checked it, before you’d pressed to ring. Then a slow and excruciating embarrassment takes over you as you remember where you’d got it. Your friend. You were going to _kill_ her. But-

 

A soft huff of breath from the other side of the line makes you jump and then blurt out awkwardly, “Oh I'm sorry, I-I’ll just be off then”-

 

*

 

“Actually,” Mycroft finds himself saying, “Now that you've called, perhaps you could assist me.” For he does know how to take advantage of each situation after all…

 

“Oh, um okay. What is it?” replies an uncertain but not altogether unwilling voice. 

 

Mycroft swallows briefly as he considers how to phrase it. Then a party trick he decides. So, “My friend and I, we have this little competition going. We try and guess things about people. I don’t suppose”-

 

“But how will he know?”

 

Mycroft’s lip twitches. Then, “Ah,” he begins, “Perhaps I could call you later on when I'm with him?” 

 

“Okay,” and there is a slight pause, and although Mycroft doesn't know what you look like he imagines you chewing on your bottom lip now. 

 

So knowing that he will have to take control Mycroft clears his throat and says “Let me see, hmm, I’d say you’re in your mid-twenties. You've got an office job and you’re still finding your feet with it but it isn't what you really want to do. It’s just filling a gap and giving you some experience. Oh, and a friend gave you the wrong number as a prank of sorts. Though if I may say so you didn't exactly come to the wrong place. I've been well versed in the art of dance since I was a child. Mummy made me take classes.” A long pause follows these words. In Mycroft’s mind eyes pop and a mouth drops open. And a pleasant feeling rises up through his stomach. Up and up it goes until he cannot contain himself any longer and he has to ask, “So how did I do?” with his voice full of amusement. 

 

“I-wow, that was pretty-how exactly did you get that?” you ask when you finally find some words. 

 

“Oh, it was quite simple,” Mycroft begins and he feels very pleased by your response, “The tone and quality of your voice to begin with was a little uncertain, which gave me a clue about your situation at work. That’s presumably where you've been for most of the day so you haven’t yet become at ease with yourself again. Then from there on I could roughly estimate your age and of course at that age you are highly unlikely to have found the perfect job, whilst statistically speaking it is more likely for you to have an office job of course. Though I have to admit,” and he gives a little chuckle now, “The thing about your friend was more of a guess. But it was all quite simple really.”

 

“Wow,” you repeat, and you feel a little silly as you do but you can’t help it. 

 

“What’s your name by the way?” Mycroft asks, still feeling both pleased and amused. 

 

“F/N,” you say. 

 

“F/N,” Mycroft tests out on his lips and you are very grateful for the fact that he can’t see you when a pleasant shiver runs through you at the way he says it. “F/N,” Mycroft says again, as if somehow he knows the strange effect it has on you, and then, “Perhaps I could ring you in a couple of hours then? Once my friend’s with me?” 

 

“All right,” you say and you wish you could think of something more impressive. 

 

But Mycroft finds himself smiling anyway as he disconnects the call. 

 

*

 

“There you are,” Sherlock says as Mycroft strides in. 

 

And the words make Mycroft frown immediately. For some people come home to the smell of dinner cooking. Whilst he comes home to the smell of sulphur from one of Sherlock’s experiments, which has gone wrong and the sight of his little brother wafting away the fumes as his pale blue eyes water slightly even though he is wearing goggles. 

 

Mycroft drops his things and shrugs off his coat, before he exclaims, “And I have told you, we’ll have to pay more rent if you damage that table. How’s the job hunt going?” 

 

“Dull,” comes the response with another hand wave. 

 

Mycroft rolls his eyes, before, “Mummy phoned today,” he announces as he strides over to see what they have in the fridge. “She wants you to phone her more often and I quite agree. She’ll be coming down to check on you for herself if you don’t do it soon. And we don’t want that do we Sherlock?”

 

There comes no response and Mycroft is quite sure that Sherlock is pulling faces and silently mouthing things behind his back but he tries to focus on the sight of the ham, butter and left over salad in the fridge instead. Then as he pulls the ham out, straightens up and closes the fridge door he turns to announce somewhat gleefully, “Ah, yes, I had another phone call today too”-

 

“Two phone calls in one day Mycroft? You are well on your way to becoming as important as you’d like to be,” Sherlock snipes as he adjusts his chemicals. 

 

And Mycroft’s face sours as he puts the ham down gingerly down on the counter, before it becomes smooth and impenetrable once more as he concludes, “You won’t sound so smug when I tell you that I successfully deduced her age and type of job just from her voice.”

 

“Oh a _‘her’_ was it? Didn't think you’d ever spoken to one of those,” Sherlock retorts. 

 

Mycroft scowls but recovers quickly from his brother’s blow when he says, “It’s a pity you take such a statement so lightly brother dear. I did suggest that I could call her back and let you do the same experiment. But if you’d rather play with your silly, little chemicals instead then”-

 

“I’ll do it now,” Sherlock interrupts and his eyes lock with Mycroft’s, before he tugs off his goggles and throws his protective gloves onto the table. 

 

“Good,” Mycroft replies, before he takes out his phone and calls back the number from earlier. 

 

Sherlock trudges round the table to join him and Mycroft puts it on speaker phone. 

 

“Hello?” the same voice from earlier says and Sherlock raises an eyebrow, grudgingly impressed that his brother has actually been on the phone to a woman after all. 

 

“F/N? It’s Mycroft here from earlier, I've got my friend with me now”-

 

 _“Friend?”_ Sherlock blurts out, before, “Is that what we are now?” he asks, “I could have _sworn_ we’d been related this entire time, much to my displeasure.”

 

Mycroft reddens and scowls somewhat when you laugh from the other side of the line, which causes Sherlock to look immediately triumphant. 

 

Then, “Yes, all right, he’s my brother really. I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier but he can be so tiresome,” Mycroft confesses, before he frowns at Sherlock who sticks his tongue out at him.

 

“Oh, that’s fine, I've got an older brother and although we get on most of the time sometimes I definitely wish I wasn't related to him,” you reply and Mycroft and Sherlock exchange a look, before, “My brother says he correctly deduced you,” Sherlock announces, getting straight to the point because he so badly wants to show-off as soon as possible and to do better than Mycroft. 

 

“He did,” comes your reply. 

 

“And he got every piece of information right?” Sherlock persists. 

 

“He did.”

 

“Right then, my turn,” Sherlock almost growls and Mycroft assumes a cool and challenging expression, whilst at the end of the line you feel somewhat intimidated. “You’re in your early twenties, you used to have an office job but now you work with animals”-

 

“Wrong I'm afraid brother dear,” Mycroft interrupts him smugly and Sherlock folds his arms, before he hisses, “Why don’t we let F/N tell us where I went wrong?” 

 

“Why don’t we? F/N, did you hear that?”

 

“I did and I'm afraid I'm in my mid-twenties and still have that office job.”

 

“Well then, that clears up what we already knew about me being the smart one in the family”- Mycroft begins, before he cuts off at the tinkle of laughter at the other end of the phone and feels immediately pleased. 

 

The smug bastard, Sherlock thinks, before he can’t help but yell into the phone, “Mycroft wants you to be his friend!”

 

 _“Sherlock!”_ Mycroft scolds and he attempts to push his brother away from the phone with one hand without much success. 

 

“No he does! Up until today he’d never even spoken to a girl before, much less a”-

 

“Thank you for your assistance today F/N. I apologise for my brother. Goodnight,” Mycroft interrupts hurriedly, and with that he disconnects the call, before he rounds on his brother and asks, “What was that about Sherlock?”

 

“Oh, don’t act like it isn't all true,” Sherlock snaps as he goes to sit back down by the wooden table sulkily and Mycroft folds his arms at him. “You _haven’t_ spoken to one before and after today God knows when you will again.”

 

“Oh?” Mycroft begins as he raises one of his eyebrows, “And what makes you think that I won’t be keeping in touch with F/N?”

 

“Oh, come on,” Sherlock snorts now, “I bet you couldn't even stay in touch with her for a month”-

 

“I’ll do you a deal then brother,” Mycroft interrupts him and Sherlock folds his arms and quirks up an eyebrow with his best, ‘yes I'm listening,’ face on. Then, “I’ll stay in touch with F/N for one month. The evidence of which I’ll show you once that month is done. And in return you will stop abusing that table, make a proper effort to find a job and”-

 

“I've already told you”-

 

“If you think that Lestrade fellow will keep on wanting your input forever then”-

 

 _“Fine!”_ Sherlock snaps and he sighs when Mycroft raises both eyebrows at him, before he huffs, “Fine, I’ll make an effort to get a dull, little _‘proper’_ job just like yours, happy now?”

 

Mycroft frowns. Then, “I think I've rather lost my appetite for this ham. I’ll see you later,” he says as airily as he can, his nose crinkling with distaste, before he slips his phone back into his pocket and leaves, Sherlock’s gaze upon him the whole time. 

 

Later Mycroft is sitting on a park bench. The sky is a dull grey above him as the night begins to sweep in and there is a slight chill in the air when he slips his phone out of his pocket again. Then, already an almost automatic gesture, he dials your number. 

 

*

 

You are surprised when you pick up the phone, your hands a little damp from the washing up suds, to find that it is Mycroft once more. 

 

“I'm sorry to call you again,” he says, and something in his voice sounds troubled. 

 

“It’s fine,” you say a little hastily, whilst you rub your free hand against your jeans to dry it, before you swap hands and do the same with the other one. And you want to ask him whether anything is wrong but you’re not sure if you should or not. It’s not like you know each other after all. 

 

“I wanted to apologise properly for my brother’s behaviour earlier. I didn't feel satisfied with the way we left things,” he treads cautiously and he does genuinely feel a little nervous about how best to proceed in order for you to agree to stay in contact with him. After all he’s never actually had to persuade anyone to stay in contact with him before. At work everyone tends to stay in contact with each other because after all one never knows who might be useful in assisting one further up the greasy pole. Whilst naturally his parents stay in touch with him and as for Sherlock, well Sherlock just doesn't have much choice. 

 

“Oh, that’s nice of you, but really it’s fine,” you say, not quite sure where this is all going or what to make of his last sentence. 

 

“My brother he’s…well, anyway, I don’t wish to go on about him or keep you for any longer than I need to, so actually I was wondering if you wouldn't mind if we were to perhaps stay in contact?” Mycroft says, deciding that he might as well get straight to the point since you’re not saying much.

 

“Oh,” you exclaim a little, because whatever you’d been expecting it hadn't been that and you can’t help but feel curious now and wonder why he wants to stay in touch, but then you realize he’s still waiting for an answer so, “Yeah, yes of course, that would be fine,” you say.

 

“Good,” he replies and he sounds pleased to your ears and that makes you feel weirdly pleased too. Little do you know that he happens to be thinking that if it was this easy to get you to stay in touch with him then staying in touch with you for a month, before your use expires, might be easier than he could have anticipated. Then after you exchange mobile numbers he says, “Right, well then, perhaps I’ll text you tomorrow?”

 

“Okay,” you breathe.

 

“Okay,” he replies and then with a small smile he disconnects the call.


	2. Emotions Are Dangerous Creatures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or the one where Mycroft certainly thinks that's the case anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, thanks so much for all your support on the first chapter. :) I very much appreciate it and hope that you enjoy this one too! :)

“I can’t believe you gave me the wrong number! Though, actually, this is you, so maybe”- you begin, slightly outraged, slightly teasingly and-

 

“Hey! Now come on,” Sally Donovan, your friend begins, taking much the same tone with you as you did with her and you can hear the humour in her voice. “I'm sorry but I couldn't resist. First there’s this weird, freaky guy who keeps coming to the station, my boss seems to think he can help us get some cases done more quickly and he gave us his number the first time he swaggered in to help, the arrogant prick. Then last week he said that his number had changed and my boss made me take the new one down. _And_ then I had you on the phone going on about how you thought you might try and join a dance class to meet someone and did I know of a number for one and, it was just _too_ perfect. So what did you think of him?” 

 

“Um, well”- you begin a little hesitantly, because your mind is still focusing on Mycroft being this supposedly weird, freaky guy who helps the police with some cases and an amusing image of him floats through your mind now, one of him-

 

“Oh God, he didn't try and deduce you did he?”

 

“Well, actually”-

 

“Oh God he did, didn't he? I should have known! I'm so sorry F/N, what did he come up with?” 

 

“Oh it wasn't actually anything bad, just my age and job,” you say and you feel that you have to say it in such a way because Sally had made it sound like it was a really bad experience to be deduced by Mycroft. 

 

There’s a slight pause for a moment, then, “Hmm, he must have been surprised by a complete stranger ringing him. That’s why he must have gone so light on you. I bet he barely has anyone in his phone book,” she concludes and you can’t help but feel a little sorry for Mycroft if this is true. But then again your contact list isn't exactly bursting either. 

 

“Oh F/N, I've got to go, speak later yeah?” 

 

“Sure, bye.”

 

“See ya,” Sally says and her voice rises slightly on the other end of the line as she begins to move across the Yard, before you disconnect the call, tuck your phone safely in the pocket of your f/c jacket and step away from the office building you work in. 

 

A light rain dusts your shoulders and you shift your handbag on your shoulder, before you turn the corner, taking care not to bump into anyone as you do so and flick your h/c hair out of your face.

 

As you do the brisk twenty-minute walk from the office to your flat you can’t help but think about what you now know about Mycroft. Sally’s words about him helping the police on some cases float through your mind and you can’t help but think that sounds like a very glamorous thing to be doing, far more exciting than your nine to five job anyway. So you make a point to ask him about it later. 

 

The rain gets worse and your hair is already far too damp and messy for your liking so you break out into a bit of a jog for the final stretch, grimacing slightly as water from the puddles you dash through rises up to splatter against the bottom of your jeans, before you pant a little as you run up the stairs to the block of flats. 

 

You stop and shake the rain off you a little in the hallway and brush your hair, which is plastered against your forehead, back, before you continue up the two flights of narrow stairs to your flat. As you trudge along you pass the long, shaggy brown haired man from the floor above who keeps trying to talk to you about religion and the sweet natured old lady from the same floor who you keep meaning to take up on the offer of tea together. You go past the man as quickly as possible with barely more than a nod and a quick, awkward, “Hi,” being exchanged. But the old lady, Dorothea, stops, grasps your wrist and says, “Oh, dear, how are you? Did you have a good day at work? You must come round for tea sometime, don’t be shy!”

 

“I'm fine thank you and um, yes I definitely will, that would be nice,” you reply, skipping the question about work altogether and she pats your wrist, before she lets go of you and allows you to pass. 

 

Then finally, a little breathlessly, you reach your door, its white paint chipped and peeling, and unlock it, before you shuffle inside. 

 

Another takeaway flyer has been shoved through your letterbox and you huff at it a little because you already have five different ones on your fridge door, before you bend to pick it up and then throw it across into the bin. Then you shrug off your jacket and toss your handbag onto the settee, before you go to check the phone on the small table by the settee for any messages. 

 

There’s one from Kurt, “Hi F/N,” he says, sounding bright in contrast to the weather you’d just come in from, “I know you’ll probably be at work right now but I thought I’d call you to remind you about dinner with Matilda and me this weekend. See you then, bye.”

 

You roll your eyes. As if you could possibly forget. Kurt is your brother. He’s older than you by two years and Matilda is his blonde, bright as sunshine, button nosed wife who gave birth to their first child two years ago. And although Matilda is mostly sweet and nice to you every time you meet, somehow you always end up feeling irritated by her, _but_ you admit to yourself now, knowing that you’re just in one of your moods, your darkest feelings towards her probably come from being irritated whenever anyone asks you if you’re seeing anyone, or when, more bluntly, it will be _‘your turn,’_ as they pointedly coo at Penny, which is hardly Matilda’s fault, when you come to think about it, is it? 

 

Your stomach growls now and you sigh, put the phone back down and go and change your clothes. After doing that, drying your hair from the rain and eating some pasta you begin to feel a little better. And you are just wondering whether to read or see if anything is on television when your phone buzzes from its place on the coffee table. So you stretch forwards from your place on the settee to check it. 

 

**Good evening. I've been wondering why you wanted to learn to dance in the first place? Mycroft.**

 

You smile and curl up on the settee more with your phone, before you reply, _I guess I thought it would be good to have more hobbies in my life. Plus I've always thought it would be a beautiful thing to be able to do._ Whilst you blatantly avoid putting down the third driving factor, which as Sally said, was to hopefully meet someone and then at least be in the position of dating someone so as to get your family off your back a bit.

 

A minute passes without a reply, for you cannot know that it makes Mycroft feel curious as it is both detailed and vague and makes him get lost in his thought as he wonders what you’re not telling him, before he chides himself because really it doesn't matter in the long scheme of things now does it? After the month is up and he wins this silly little bet with his brother he can’t see why he’d spare you another thought after all. 

 

Meanwhile your hands begin to fidget so to take your mind off waiting for a response you begin to flick mindlessly through the TV channel listings. But you just find yourself watching the time at the top of the screen instead. And when five minutes passes without a single buzz from your phone you can’t take it any longer so, _You said you took classes as a child? Did you have to wear a tutu?_ You send, before you immediately wish that you could retract every last word because you sound like such a pathetic, little attention seeker-

 

Your phone buzzes and you jump.

 

**I'm glad I didn't have to resort to that, no,** Mycroft smiles, **Although I was the only boy in my class so it was still, shall we say, an odd experience.** You chuckle now, before you pay attention once more as your phone buzzes again, **Will you still be joining a class?** Mycroft asks in between signing some documents.

 

You bite your lip after reading the question and shuffle your position a little on the settee. Then, _I’d like to, but I-_ no, that’s not right so you erase it and start again, _Maybe if-_ no again, not right so, _No, I don’t think so_ , you finally send, your reason for changing your mind being the fact that you feel rather put off by Sally’s prank.

 

**That’s a shame** , Mycroft replies a moment later without even thinking about it and your eyebrows furrow slightly as you wonder what he meant by that. 

 

Then as you ponder on what to say next you remember your conversation with Sally earlier and so, _My friend, the one who gave me the wrong number, she said you help the police sometimes with cases. That must be interesting?_

 

Mycroft can’t help but sigh inwardly a little as he reads it, and he stops working now as something unexpected stirs inside him. Then he leans back in his seat, his forearms resting on his desk and his gaze on his phone as he contemplates it all. You are nothing to him. At most you are just a different way of attempting to get Sherlock to see sense about the silly career aspirations he holds. But he recognizes that he doesn't like the idea of you thinking he does Sherlock’s hobby, or whatever it is. And that he doesn't like the idea of you thinking that he does something more exciting than what he can actually tell you about his actual job. But he shakes himself a little now and leans forwards once more, for emotions are dangerous creatures and he will not allow himself to be caught up in them. Especially not for a woman he has barely known for twenty-four hours. So, “Probably just to do with our silly brotherly rivalry,” he muses out loud to himself, as he decides that his sudden emotions must have more to do with the way he feels about Sherlock than having anything to do with you. Then he pushes it all to the back of his mind, before he replies carefully, **Ah. That’s my brother, sorry. He must have given my number to them to annoy me. He does rather like to play silly little games. I'm afraid I only occupy a minor position in the British government** , whilst he also makes a mental note to call Scotland Yard as soon as possible to inform them that they have the wrong number for his brother. For he cannot have all manner of policemen phoning him at any time of day or night when he’s busy enough as it is. 

 

_Oh, well, I'm sure that’s still interesting_ , you reply quickly, trying to be polite. 

 

And when his heart swoops a little downwards in his chest Mycroft shakes his head about as if he’s swatting off a particularly bothersome fly. But even so he can’t help but send, **You’re disappointed?** And you feel a little guilty but-

 

_Well, in one sense I guess. I have no idea what you look like but when she said that I had a picture of you in my head dancing amongst all the cold cases, before you solved them just by touching the file or something._

 

*

 

Mycroft chuckles at that in spite of himself, but he does not take the bait and describe how he looks like in his reply. He’ll only be in touch with you for a month after all and knowing what each other looks like would only serve to complicate things. For, after all, it is much easier to treat someone callously when they are faceless. At least that’s what he tells himself. So he doesn't allow the thought that you’d probably be disappointed again if he did describe what he looks like surface for long, before he pushes it back down again. Then, **I'm afraid, though I'm admittedly good, I don’t have quite the God-like powers of deduction that you describe.**

 

_But you are at least better than your brother_ , comes your reply and Mycroft can’t stop himself smiling at that, before-

 

“Sir?” and he looks up now from where he is sat by his desk in his office to see Anthea there, “Your meeting’s in ten minutes, you should really be heading downstairs”-

 

“Of course,” Mycroft replies, half-standing and then he picks up his phone and sends a quick, **I'm afraid I have to go** , before he collects the papers that he needs for his meeting and hurries out of the room, cursing himself inwardly as he does so for letting himself get too distracted by this little charade with you. 

 

*

 

You frown at the last text Mycroft sent you. Did he really have to go or did he just not want to talk about his brother or-

 

“You’re over thinking things F/N,” you tell yourself, before you drop your phone deliberately back onto the coffee table and get up to switch the lights on and close the curtains. Then you lie back down on the settee and try to distract your mind with some television. 

 

It works for a while, even though you are aware of how your eyes keep sliding down to observe your still phone and then you begin to feel a little stiff, so you get up, switch the television off and go and fetch your book.

 

You read until you feel tired and then you are just about to slide into bed, when your phone, now on your bedside table, rings. 

 

So, “Hello?” you answer curiously.

 

“Yes I'm better than my brother,” Mycroft’s warm voice picks up your conversation from earlier as if there had never been any interruption.

 

“But what at?” you say, before you can stop yourself and then you clap a hand over your mouth because did you _really_ just say that?

 

“Everything,” Mycroft replies, a deep forceful conviction in his tone and although a warning voice whispers inside his mind he pushes it back down irritably. For he knows what he’s doing. He can still be guarded and talk to you without too many emotions sprouting inside him. 

 

“So, um, your brother,” you begin to say and you have no idea where your words are going you just know that you need to keep talking so you can’t think about the way his voice had said, _‘Everything,’_ “He must be quite clever if he’s helping the police?”

 

“Clever is one word, reckless another,” Mycroft replies. Then when you don’t respond he continues, “He currently has the opinion that he can make up his own job title, help the police and somehow make a decent enough living from it all to survive comfortably. Then again who knows how long this phase will last. He once wanted to be a pirate,” and as he says the words it feels almost like a little weight is being lifted off his shoulders, for it feels strangely good to be able to offload such worries onto a complete stranger. But, and he feels now like he’s climbed into a bath, only to discover that the water is too hot for him to sink down into it, leaving him with one foot half-suspended in the air above it instead, he has coped this far without needing to talk to anyone about his worries or Sherlock, which are basically the same thing. So he does not need to crumble and give into emotion now. But- 

 

“Oh, well you can’t really judge him about wanting to be a pirate,” you comment reasonably, “We all wanted to be some weird things. I wanted to be a vet but that was never going to happen. I cry at Bambi.”

 

“How quaint of you,” Mycroft replies, not exactly condescendingly but not exactly non-condescendingly either, for he needs to keep his distance, but then, as if to show the mess and turmoil that the inner-sanctum of his mind is in, he finds himself saying, “Still, if he doesn't act soon he’ll end up wasting his life,” and with some irritation he realizes that although he wants to stop himself from saying too much he just can’t help himself. 

 

You smile slightly at the comment but know it would not be wise to go against it. So you start talking about other things instead. 

 

It turns out that Mycroft and you have one similarity at least. You both, it turns out, live in the same part of London, though admittedly saying that you live in the same part of London is hardly like saying you live next door to each other when you consider how densely populated each part of London is. But still it’s nice to think that you might be able to relate to each other a bit more because of this. 

 

Then, “So um do you live with anyone then? Or”- you begin rather awkwardly because you can’t help wondering now.

 

“Just my brother,” Mycroft interrupts a little stiffly, for he feels far more comfortable talking about you than himself. 

 

“Oh right, so um”- you begin again, because although that’s answered your question in some ways, in some ways it really hasn't.

 

But “Yes?” Mycroft prompts, because though he has a feeling he knows where you might be going with this line of questioning, and he’s really not sure how to feel about that other than uncomfortable, part of him just wants to make you say it. 

 

So, “There’s no one um…er…”

 

And Mycroft finally decides to help you out now by supplying, “I'm single if that’s what you’re getting at,” because at this rate you’ll still be fumbling out your words by morning and he really doesn't want to spend that long talking about his love life.

 

You breathe a bit in relief, both at the fact that the awkward moment is rapidly lessening and at the fact that’s another thing you can relate to. But at the same time you’re not really sure how to respond to this new piece of information so, “Oh, right, that’s good,” you say.

 

And Mycroft smiles a little now, feeling a little more relaxed, before, “And yourself?” he questions.

 

“Hmm?” you ask, because if you’re honest you were only half-listening and starting to become lost in thought instead. 

 

So, “Is there anyone… _special_ …in your life F/N?” Mycroft asks.

 

And, “Oh, no, no I'm single too,” you blurt out. 

 

_“Interesting,”_ is his immediate response, though as soon as he says it he feels like he should have said something else. For after all he does not want to give you the impression that he harbours any kind of feelings for you. 

 

So, “Yeah…” you say, before you trail off again because you don’t know how to continue. 

 

And then once that awkwardness is done you find out that he’s thirty, before you flip back to the far safer topics of work, your family and places that you've both travelled to in the past. 

 

Then when there’s a still moment in the conversation and you become suddenly aware of how tired you feel and of the yawn that’s building up inside you, your eyes flick across to check the time. And your breath hitches in your chest with surprise when you see what time it is. So, “Is it really ten to three?” you ask him with a small smile. 

 

And his eyes swivel to the alarm clock on his bedside cabinet now, before his heart jolts in his chest in surprise at it all. For he’d been aware of it getting late of course as his bedroom, with the exception of the soft, steady glow from the lamp on the bedside cabinet, had grown steadily darker and the furniture more shadowy, and, of course, as the sounds of Sherlock moving about had lessened into silence. But he hadn't really realized until now just how long he’d been talking to you for. 

 

And he almost becomes lost in his thought all together, before you ask, “Mycroft?” softly. 

 

He starts now, then, “Apologies,” he says automatically, before he runs a tired hand across his face, then, “Yes, I suppose it is,” he concurs. 

 

And there’s a brief uncertain kind of silence now as you wonder what to say next, whilst Mycroft begins to turn back to his thoughts once more. 

 

Then, “I suppose I better go to bed,” you say, before Mycroft can get enveloped by his thoughts once more. 

 

And, “Right, yes of course,” he says as he stirs once more.

 

So, “Goodnight then,” you say, before you bite at your lip uncertainly because you’re not sure whether you should thank him for all the talking you've done together or not. You've enjoyed it but-

 

“Goodnight F/N,” Mycroft says, before you can decide and so you nod a little, whilst your breath hitches in your chest, before you disconnect the call, slide properly down into bed and allow the memory of Mycroft’s voice to soothe you to sleep, whilst a light rain patters against the windowpane. 

 

Mycroft meanwhile lets out a little breath when he can no longer hear your soft breathing on the other side, before he draws the phone away from his ear and places it down on his bedside cabinet. 

 

He doesn't let himself think again until after he’s changed and when he's in bed with the covers drawn over him and his eyes are staring at the ceiling, all the light in the room now extinguished.

 

But when he does he concludes that quite honestly this whole matter with you is troubling him. For he’s only just over twenty-four hours into this month long bet and already he’s been _feeling_ far too many things. It’s not even like it’s just one thing either. That at least might have been more manageable. But not curiosity, amusement, pleasure, relief and a smidgen of jealousy of his brother on top of it all. He sighs a little bit now, suddenly realizing why Sherlock didn't think he’d be able to contact you for a month. For it’s quite tempting to just call the whole thing silly and to therefore call the bet off altogether. But picturing Sherlock’s smug face in his mind makes Mycroft frown and stiffen his resolve. Whilst, he admits to himself as he turns onto his side, it wouldn't be very gentlemanly of him, having been the one to ask you to stay in contact with him in the first place, to disappear from your life at this juncture. But, a voice in his head says now, it’s hardly going to come across well whenever he does it. And he frowns some more now, before he turns onto his other side irritably. 

 

Then, “Caring is not an advantage,” he reminds himself firmly, before he screws his eyes shut and tries to close off his mind to any thought so that he might at least get some sleep. 

 

But naturally, whilst you sleep soundly just a short distance away, Mycroft doesn't get much sleep that night.


	3. Just One Goldfish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or the one where a decision has to be made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, thanks so much for your continued support. It really means a lot to me. I hope you enjoy this chapter. :)

When you wake up the following morning, feeling refreshed, you feel a great need to contact Mycroft and to thank him for the previous night. There is no way you can just carry on and not acknowledge it. So, _Last night was nice_ , you text. 

 

 **Yes it was** , Mycroft sends, before he can stop himself but he still feels uncomfortable about it all. 

 

**Sunday 12:01pm**

 

The screams of the toddler make you wince a little and really wish that you could get up and run. But unfortunately you've gotten yourself more than a little trapped, with Matilda and Penny on one side of you by the kitchen table and Penny’s high chair on the other. Whilst Kurt, who you are sure Matilda must have drugged because the normal Kurt would have shot himself if he could see the stupid, goofy expressions he’s pulling as he stares at Penny sits opposite, somehow having managed to snag the whole side of the table for himself. 

 

Then it gets worse, “Oh F/N, do you mind taking her for a moment? I think my phone just buzzed,” Matilda says and before you can even answer or pretend that, _‘Hey, what a coincidence, my phone just buzzed too!’_ she passes Penny to you, and you find yourself closer to her than you ever wanted to be. Then Penny places a small, sticky hand against your cheek and you freeze into place with a fixed smile upon your face. 

 

“Oh hey, look at how much she likes you F/N!” Kurt says. And you glare at him, whilst Penny moves her hand across your cheek and Matilda bows her head to check her phone. 

 

Then you feel something move in your pocket and for a moment you think you have _actually_ convinced your mind to create the sensation of your phone going off in your pocket. But then you realize that your phone _is_ actually vibrating, so you jostle Penny a little on your lap and cause Matilda to look up because _‘What on earth are you doing to her little Princess?’_ Then, “Um, my phone’s actually going off now, so…” you trail off. 

 

Matilda raises an eyebrow at you, but then she gives you a little sigh, puts her phone back in her pocket and takes Penny from you. “You know F/N I wouldn't put it past you to have gotten one of your friends to ring you today so you’d get out of holding Penny too much,” Matilda begins as you get out your phone, but then you stop listening to her because you see that the call is from Mycroft. 

 

So, “Excuse me,” you mutter and you shift Penny’s high chair back a little now so that you can swing out from the table. Then you go around it towards the patio doors and press the phone to your ear as you do so, before, “Hello?” you answer.

 

“Good afternoon,” Mycroft’s smooth voice reverberates down the line causing a pleasant feeling to hit your stomach and as you step out of the sliding patio door into the small back garden and make your way towards the white swinging seat you feel a world away from annoying babies and sister’s-in-law. Then, “I don’t suppose you have time for a Sunday question and answer session? I have today off and I did think that I’d rather like to get to know you better,” Mycroft says, for he’d felt a weird desire to contact you and despite all the warnings going off in his head he hadn't been able to shake that feeling so he’d succumbed instead. 

 

You smile at the idea as you plop down onto the seat and swing your legs up on it, which causes it to rock back and forth a little. Then, “Well I'm at my brother’s house right now but I do have at least quarter of an hour, before lunch so I don’t see why not,” you reply. 

 

There comes a slight pause and then, “Ah, well I don’t wish to interrupt family time”- Mycroft begins now and he feels a weird kind of relief fill him, for if he can’t talk to you now then he’s protected himself from feeling anything as a result of whatever conversations you might have ended up having at least. 

 

But, “Oh no, God no, trust me I'm more than happy to have escaped,” you interrupt him with a small laugh. 

 

“In that case then,” begins Mycroft’s delicate reply, for if he can talk to you after all then he is determined to be in control, “I shall begin my questioning,” and your lip quirks upwards now and you find yourself twirling a strand of h/c hair around your fingers. Then, “If you could go anywhere in the world where would it be?” he asks.

 

“Hmm,” you begin and your free hand drops down to your lap as you ponder, then, “Country, reason. Or country, reason. What about you?”

 

“Ah, good answers but today I am questioning you Miss…I just realized I don’t even know your surname,” Mycroft says and he feels surprised, for how can you have already provoked so much emotion inside him when he knows so little about you? Ministers in the government, whom he sees on a regular basis and knows so much about, have provoked less. 

 

“L/N,” you say automatically. 

 

“F/N L/N,” he tests out, before, “Is that your full name?”

 

“Well…”

 

 _“Yes?”_

 

“I do actually have a middle name. But I've always had a bit of a love and hate relationship with it so…”

 

“F/N I insist you tell me at once,” Mycroft demands, once more getting too caught up in this game with you. 

 

“Is this really helping you get to know me?” you groan a little.

 

“Of course,” comes the answer and ‘Of course’ you mouth with a smile and a little roll of your eyes.

 

Then, “Fine,” you relent, “It’s M/N.”

 

“And what is wrong with that F/N M/N L/N? It is a lovely name,” Mycroft informs you.

 

“You really think so?” you ask, feeling a little pleased now. 

 

“Of course, I wouldn't say it if I didn't think it,” Mycroft replies, before, “Next question then. What’s your favourite type of cake?”

 

“Why can you bake too?” you ask him teasingly.

 

“Not particularly. Mine’s red velvet, what’s yours?” Mycroft replies quickly, for he feels a bit confused by the way his heart just flipped inside his chest at your tone and such confusion makes him feel oddly flustered too. 

 

“Favourite cake,” you say, before you tease, “And don’t lie, I can totally see you dancing around your kitchen, cracking some eggs”-

 

“How do you know what I'm doing right now? Do you have a camera on me?” Mycroft asks with a bit of a fake gasp as he tries to regain some control and he feels pleased when you laugh. 

 

But then your brother chooses that exact moment to step out of the patio door and your laughter ceases at once, before you mutter, “Um I think lunch’s ready.”

 

“Perhaps we’ll talk later then?” Mycroft suggests as evenly as he can, for he can sense a shift in your feelings and he doesn't want to make anything worse. 

 

“Yes, okay, bye then,” you say a little hastily, because Kurt’s coming quickly across the short grass to you now and you don’t want him to hear anything, even anything not remotely important, so before Mycroft can even reply to you, you disconnect the call. 

 

Kurt stops just in front of you as you lower the phone a little warily back into your pocket and look at him. 

 

Then, “Hey, what’s the joke?” he asks, referring to the carefree way you’d been laughing just now.

 

“Um, nothing,” you say, jumping up, whilst you avoid his eyes and tuck your hair back behind your ear a little. 

 

So, “Who was that?” Kurt tries again.

 

“Oh, it was just Sally,” you lie, before, “Is lunch ready?”

 

“Yeah, that’s why I came out to get you,” Kurt says, as he eyes you a little suspiciously and you can tell that he doesn't believe that it was really Sally on the phone. 

 

But instead of letting him dig any further you hurry past him, back inside. 

 

It’s not like you had much choice but going inside doesn't prove to be any easier either for as soon as you enter Matilda looks up at you from where she's putting a bowl of roast potatoes onto the table [Penny is sitting in the high chair now] and asks, “Oh F/N who was that?”

 

“Just Sally,” you shrug casually, before you go to help put everything on the table.

 

And you can almost feel Kurt and her exchanging a look, their eyebrows both raised, so you pointedly ignore it. 

 

But, “You looked very engrossed in the conversation,” Matilda chips in from where she is now taking the chicken out of the oven and you can’t help but glare at her back. And you are so close to asking her, _‘Shouldn't you have been watching Penny, not me?’_ but you know it wouldn't be appreciated so you just swallow it all back down. Then because everyone seems to be waiting for you to respond you say as casually as you can, “Did I? That’s just how we always talk.”

 

And you can tell you’re still under suspicion but thankfully lunch takes over a little, giving you room to breathe until-

 

You feel your phone buzz in your pocket. And you can’t explain it but you just know that it’s Mycroft so you chance a look up at everyone. Kurt’s busy eating and Matilda’s busy cooing over Penny and trying to get her to eat too so you are as safe as you can be. Still you slide your phone out of your pocket tentatively and check it underneath the table. 

 

 **F/N M/N L/N I hope you are having a nice lunch right now. If you feel like you need to escape, but can’t, then just imagine me dancing in my kitchen,** and you can’t know that it had taken a moment of wrestling with the idea, before Mycroft had sent it because for some reason, which he didn't like to probe into too closely, he’d felt uncomfortable about just leaving the conversation with you the way he had. 

 

You smile, then, _I knew it was a bad idea introducing you to my full name. I'm never going to just be F/N again am I?_

 

 **Of course you are F/N,** Mycroft responds and you can’t help but let out a small, amused breath, before you smirk at the phone. 

 

Then Kurt clears his throat and you look up to see him and Matilda staring at you. 

 

“Sally again?” Kurt asks in an unamused fashion. 

 

“Yep,” you squeak, before you shove your phone back into your pocket and start eating quickly so they can’t question you.

 

Kurt lets you get away with it for the rest of lunch but as soon as it’s over he sends Matilda and Penny into the living room with a nice picture book and Matilda sends him a knowing look as he does so, before he traps you into drying the dishes, whilst he washes up.

 

The tension between the pair of you is palpable. And your body is tense as you wait for him to say something. But for a minute he just washes up and you get almost tricked into thinking you are safe. Then, “So where did you meet this guy?” he asks and you look at him, whilst nerves bubble up through your stomach, “Don’t lie F/N. I know you weren't talking to Sally earlier. Who is he?” Kurt demands. 

 

For a moment you don’t answer, you just shift a little uncomfortably and carry on scrubbing the plate to dry it. Then when Kurt’s eyes show no signs of leaving your face, you say, “He’s just”-

 

“Is he from work?” Kurt interrupts, “Does he work in the same department as you? Did you”-

 

“Kurt, will you just let me answer?” you reply snappily because this is difficult enough without him not letting you even answer in the first place. 

 

He bites his lip, his eyes still hard on you, but then he gives a quick jerk of his head forwards. 

 

You sigh a little as you look away from him momentarily, before you look back at him and say, “Sally sort of introduced me to him. She gave me his number, kind of by mistake, and we got talking”-

 

“What do you mean, ‘kind of by mistake?’” Kurt asks with a frown.

 

And you wince at once because it is so easy with hindsight to see that you should never have told him that, before you begin, “It was, well”-

 

“But Sally knows this guy right?” Kurt checks.

 

“Um, no, she’s never met him”-

 

“What? So you don’t even know anything about this guy?”

 

“If you could just stop talking and start listening then you would have heard that I'm _getting_ to know him,” you protest and both of your voices are getting louder and louder. So much so that you can hear the low, steady stream of Matilda’s voice as she tells the story to Penny break off suddenly in the living room. 

 

Kurt wrenches his hands out of the soapy water, turns, and dries them hurriedly on a cloth, before he storms off into the living room. You follow him hurriedly, feeling both frustrated and panicky about it all.

 

Then, “F/N’s been talking to a strange guy,” Kurt announces as you both burst into the living room and Matilda looks up from where she’s been sitting on the carpet going through the story with Penny. 

 

But if Kurt was hoping for her to back him up in saying what a bad idea this all is he doesn't get it, for, “I knew it,” she squeals, before she jumps up and comes over to hug you as if you've just successfully completed a marathon. 

 

“No Tilly, it’s not something to be pleased about,” Kurt protests angrily, “She doesn't even know him.”

 

But Matilda ignores him now and instead she asks you, “How did you start talking?” thankfully choosing to reserve some of her judgement until she hears some more information and for perhaps the first time you feel weirdly grateful for her presence. 

 

Then you shift a little, Kurt’s gaze dark upon you, whilst Matilda looks expectantly at you and Penny gurgles and bangs her picture book against the carpet.

 

“Oh no, don’t do that sweetie,” Matilda says as she turns and reaches down to pull the book out of Penny’s reach. 

 

Then, _“F/N?”_ Kurt pushes you as Matilda straightens up once more.

 

So you swallow, before, “It’s a bit of a long story”-

 

“You better start now then,” Kurt interrupts and you scowl at him. 

 

“Okay, so there’s this guy who goes to Sally’s work sometimes. He helps them with some stuff, I er, I don’t know what exactly, but anyway instead of giving them his number he gave them his brother’s,” you begin, cutting out the part about Sherlock telling the police that his number had changed to make the story shorter. Then, “So when Sally, er, accidentally gave me that number I ended up talking to the brother who works for the government and er…we've kind of been talking ever since, I say ever since, but I mean, really that was only last week. So, um, it’s still a bit new.”

 

Kurt as ever is the first to react. He folds his arms and asks, whilst he raises one of his eyebrows, “So what does he look like? Have you got a photo to show us?”

 

“Um, no”-

 

“See! You don’t even know what he looks like, he could be anyone, you hear about these people, they go preying on women and you just fell right into his lap”-

 

“Oh right, because a photo would definitely clear up whether he’s a good guy or not in your mind, huh Kurt?”-

 

“It would help”-

 

“Will you two calm down, Penny’s here”-

 

“Oh shut up Matilda!” you can’t help but snap and Kurt does a little stupid double take. 

 

Then, “Don’t talk to my wife like that”-

 

“I will because I don’t get why you’re making such a big deal about this! How is this any different from how you met Matilda on-line?”-

 

“She had a photo on her”-

 

“She still could have been anyone!” you tell him, before you run a harried hand through your hair, and then because you feel so stifled in that moment with them all around, staring at you, you just make a little annoyed sound in your throat, before you turn and make to leave. Thankfully none of them stop you. 

 

*

 

You’re still mad about it all when you get home. So one of the first things you do is to call Sally. 

 

The first thing that she says though when you've gone through a rough account of what happened at Kurt’s house is, “Oh my God, you’re _still_ in touch with wrong number guy?”

 

“That’s what you take from all of that? Not how stupid my brother is but that I'm still in touch with Mycroft”-

 

“ _Mycroft_? I thought you were in touch with Sherlock?”-

 

“Oh no, it turns out that Sherlock gave his brother Mycroft’s number to the police. Mycroft said that he must have done that to annoy him.”

 

“That sounds about right,” Sally replies with a grudging kind of humour in her voice.

 

“So, um,” you begin, trying to phrase your next words as casually as possible but of course drawing attention to them through your hesitation, “Have you seen Mycroft around then? What does he look like?”

 

“I haven’t, I'm pretty sure my boss has mentioned him though. But if he’s anything like his brother then you’d be better off avoiding him.”

 

“Why?”

 

There’s a bit of a pause now and then, “It’s kind of hard for you to understand without seeing it”-

 

“Oh,” you interject softly. 

 

“But he’s really weird F/N, it’s like he gets a kick out of seeing things about people and being clever. He doesn't know when to stop. He hurts people,” and the warning tone that runs firmly through her words makes you shiver. 

 

Then you don’t know how best to respond so to save yourself you say, “Oh, I think there’s someone at the door. I better go. Speak later?”

 

“Okay, bye F/N, take care,” and you are sure by the way she says it that she knows what you are doing so you are grateful to her for not calling you out on it.

 

So, “Bye Sally,” you say, before you put the phone back down in its cradle in relief. 

 

Then you sit down on the settee and take your mobile out of your pocket. For a moment you just hold it in between your hands and stare down at it. Kurt’s over reaction about Mycroft possibly being some kind of predator and a danger to you along with Sally’s almost sinister description of his brother running through your mind. But then you push all their words to the back of your mind and type determinedly, _I'm sorry about how I just left earlier._

 

*

 

Sherlock watches from the table, his face hanging low in between two test tubes, as Mycroft, who has been quite still up until now as he sits in an armchair, takes his phone out of his pocket and looks at it, before a moment later he smiles. 

 

“Who is it?” Sherlock finds himself asking automatically as he lifts his head up and sits up straighter, his tone a mix of what you sound like when you are both suspicious and freaking out because did his brother just smile at his phone? Usually any texts he had made him look older or even more serious. Not- 

 

“Oh,” Mycroft murmurs, before he looks fleetingly up at his brother, “It’s really nothing for you to worry about,” and he turns his attention back to his phone now, before he begins to tap out a reply.

 

“I think it is,” Sherlock protests, “You just _smiled_ ,” and he sounds almost disgusted now as if seeing Mycroft smiling is akin to witnessing a man bathing in a whale’s corpse. 

 

Mycroft rolls his eyes and chooses to ignore Sherlock’s words, finishing his reply to you instead. **Not to worry. I hope I didn't inconvenience you by texting you then?**

 

“Who are you texting?” Sherlock persists, his chin resting on his hands, which are in a prayer position. 

 

“The Prime Minister,” Mycroft quips, not looking away from his phone as he waits for your reply. 

 

“Sleeping with him now are you?”

 

“Gracious, no,” Mycroft replies, his eyebrows rising as his phone buzzes once more. 

 

 _You didn't. I'm glad you texted actually. The rest of the day was horrible._ Is all that Mycroft manages to read, before he goes to cover his phone with his hand as he detects Sherlock attempting to sneak up behind him to read it, as this is the reaction Sherlock is no doubt expecting. But secretly Mycroft wants his brother to know that it is you texting him so he deliberately waits a second too late, before he covers his phone entirely and-

 

“Is that F/N?” Sherlock asks incredulously, before, “What on earth could she have said to make you smile?”

 

“I did tell you we’d be keeping in touch,” Mycroft says a little smugly. 

 

But, “Does she know it’s only for a month? That you’re only contacting her for a bet?” Sherlock cannot resist saying and when Mycroft doesn't immediately respond Sherlock adds, “What are you going to tell her when the month’s up?”

 

“Nothing, I shall just stop contacting her,” Mycroft replies as evenly as he can, but Sherlock knows his brother and he can hear the trace of coldness in his tone, the one that says something about the situation isn't quite right, but, “And I see you’re not exactly sticking to your end of the deal Sherlock. You’re still wasting time with those chemicals and you’re still unemployed.”

 

“At least I'm not smiling, whilst I manipulate someone else’s heart,” Sherlock retorts coldly, before he leaves both Mycroft and his chemicals for his bedroom. 

 

Mycroft does not reply to you again that night. He just stares at his phone, whilst he ponders over his brother’s words and thinks about it all. 

 

And he realizes that although yes, he has been manipulating you, the idea of doing so doesn't sit well with him any longer. Every conversation he’s had with you has, for the most part, been so natural and has provoked some such stirring of emotion inside him. And he doesn't know if it’s this, or something else, but he realizes now that he _does_ want to get to know you and not just because of the bet. But because…because he wants to, it’s both as simple and as complicated as that. Which brings him neatly back around to what he’d told Sherlock earlier and the words, ‘Nothing, I shall just stop contacting her,’ which he’d said in a cold voice that makes him cringe now echo through his mind. For will it really be that simple? He wonders. Of course he wants it to be, he muses, and of course if he’d continued to feel the same way as he had when he’d first made the bet with Sherlock than it would have been the simplest thing to do in the world. But now that he knows you more, now that you've made him curious and now that he’s got this _fondness_ for you things are suddenly more complicated. For that’s what it is he’d realized last night as he’d been lying in bed, trying to get to sleep. He’d caught himself wondering what he might discuss with you today and caught himself, dare he say it, looking forward to speaking with you and then with a jolt he’d realized and exclaimed, “Christ, I'm getting fond of her,” in the still darkness, whilst his eyes had widened comically and his breath had quickened, before he’d calmed himself down by telling himself that in the interest of sleep he could stand to forget such a thing tonight and worry about this new, startling development in the morning. Of course then this morning he’d pushed such things to the back of his mind as much as possible and deliberately not allowed himself to consciously make the connection between them and his sudden desire to speak with you. 

 

His position shifts now and then, feeling wary of pushing that particular thought any further, he goes back around the same cycle of thought twice more. But each time he teeters on the same final conclusion, which is that whether he stays in touch with you or not for more than a month he doesn't want to hurt you. But how can he not hurt you if he doesn't stay in touch after the month is up? For he can’t stay in touch with you any longer than that, can he? 

 

He sighs and then to try and stop those particular thoughts from going any further right then he gets up and goes to bed.

 

*

 

“Have you thought more about what I told you about Sherlock?” Sally asks you when she phones the following evening.

 

And her words make you blurt out angrily, “Look, you may have forgotten, but it was you who gave me his number in the first place”-

 

“Yeah and I'm really regretting that now aren't I?” Sally interrupts heavily, before she sighs, “Look F/N, when I gave you what I thought was _Sherlock’s_ number, it was just supposed to be a bit of fun, to be honest with you I barely even thought about it, it was just something we could laugh about later. That’s all I ever intended it to be, I never meant for this”-

 

“Well this is what you've got,” you tell her coolly, before you attempt, “And anyway just because Sherlock acts one way doesn't mean Mycroft does, does it?”

 

“No,” Sally begins and it sounds like she’s trying to be patient with you, before she says, “But you have to understand that, well, Sherlock’s so weird, and if they both grew up the same way, which I'm assuming they did, then it’s unlikely Mycroft’s much different F/N,” with the tone of someone trying to explain a very easy mathematical equation to a child who keeps getting it wrong. 

 

“Right, well, thanks for that but I have to”-

 

“No F/N,” Sally interrupts, “Don’t run away again. I let you go last night because, well, it’s a lot to take in, I get it but”-

 

“Do you?” and it is your turn to interrupt, “Because I don’t think you do.” And you huff a little now as you take a breath and think about what you want to say. Then, “Am I the same as Kurt?” you ask. 

 

“What? No, but”-

 

“Well, then”-

 

“That’s different though F/N. You and Kurt, you’re so normal, and Sherlock really isn't, and I just, I just don’t want you getting mixed up in all that if Mycroft’s the same,” Sally says pleadingly, as she tries to get you to finally understand. 

 

“Thank you Sally,” you huff out and you can almost hear her take a hopeful breath on the other side, before you put the phone down on her. 

 

“F/N?” Sally says to no one on the other side and then when she realizes what you've done she sighs and wonders how she can get through to you. One thing she knows for sure though is that she isn't giving up on making you see sense. 

 

*

 

Two weeks pass. In that time Mycroft and you keep in touch. 

 

 **Time for another Q & A session Miss F/N M/N L/N?** Mycroft sends that first Saturday as he sits on the armchair in the flat and tries to ignore the fact that the month of contact with you is rapidly disappearing and he still has no idea of what to do when it ends. 

 

 _Well, if it’s anything like the first one then it’s bound to be interesting_ , you reply as you stroll through the park and your eyes catch sight of a free bench now, just further down the path, and as you quicken your pace so that you might reach it before anyone else does your phone buzzes again. 

 

**Is that a yes?**

 

 _Of course_ , you send as you finally reach the bench and sit down on it a little breathlessly, before you flick your h/c hair back and swallow as you wait for his reply. 

 

 **I'm assuming your flat doesn't let you have animals, but if you did have one then what would it be?** Mycroft sends conversationally now.

 

You think about it for a moment but it doesn't take you long to work out your answer so, _It doesn't and I used to think a animal mainly because we had one when I was a child. But now I'm actually thinking a animal._

 

Mycroft smiles as he reads your answer, then, **Interesting** , he sends.

 

And you can feel all the thought behind that one word and picture him stroking his chin thoughtfully now, so you send, _Oh no, are you using psychology on these answers?_ Whilst you feel a little worried but more playful as you do so.

 

 **Hmm, no, but I am filing them away in my mind for later use** , Mycroft sends, smiling a little at your playful response, but he wants to be relatively serious for another moment so he adds conversationally, **Did I ever tell you that my brother has a mind palace?**

 

Your face scrunches up a little now as you read it and fail to make sense of it. So, _A what?_ You send. 

 

And his smile grows bigger at your evident confusion, before he explains; **It’s a memory technique. He has a mental map of a place in his head, in this case a palace, and he stores information inside it.**

 

 _Oh, I think I've heard of that technique. If I remember someone came around in school and told us about it,_ you begin breezily, before you can’t help but add lightly, _But if you’re smarter, than yours must be, what a, mind empire? Mind country?_

 

And to Mycroft it’s like you’re dancing with him now and spinning away out of his arms when just a moment earlier his chest had been pressed against your back. So, whilst it’s tempting to take your bait completely, he tries to regain some control instead by replying with a cool sort of calmness, **Your examples are most amusing. But actually I’d probably just call my one a mind palace and a bit.**

 

So, _A mind palace with a garden?_ You reply and in the dance in Mycroft’s mind you’re spinning back towards him now and one second his hands are on your waist and the next they are in mid-air again as he struggles to re-claim you. 

 

Then finally you stop spinning so, **A very big garden yes** , he sends and in the dance he’d have been whispering it into your ear a little breathlessly. 

 

You smile at the fact that he's beginning to go along with it all and relax more so, _With lots of garden gnomes and a pond for them all to fish in?_ you ask. 

 

Mycroft’s lips quirk upward now and then without thinking he sends, **Perhaps, but I think there would only be one goldfish** , but as his text hurtles towards you he knows that it’s the truth. For some how, for whatever reason, you've made him curious, held his attention and made him want to know more about you. And somewhere in his mind now workers rush through the main gates and up the ornate patterned path that leads to his mind palace, before they start constructing the pond. 

 

Your heart does a little flip as you read it, but, _Interesting_ , you send as casually as you can, even though at the same time you know that with it referencing Mycroft’s earlier answer to you it’s opening the gates once more. 

 

And this time Mycroft takes the bait when he responds, **Miss L/N are you using psychology on my answers?**

 

 _Would I?_ You send with a smile toying about your lips, your legs crossed as you sit on the bench and in your dance you spin away from him again, before as his lips part you spin back a moment later as, _Actually yes, before you answer that I would._

 

 **In that case I shall have to be careful not to reveal any of my secrets** , Mycroft sends with a small smile. 

 

 _Oh so you have more than one secret then?_ you respond quickly as one of your eyebrows rise.

 

And, **Very perceptive of you** , Mycroft sends, feeling pleased by your fast response. Then choosing to take control once more, before things get into murkier waters he sends wisely, **I think I better move onto the next question.**

 

Though he knows things are far from safe if the way his heart jolts pleasantly when you send, _I think you better had_ , is anything to go by. 

 

So, **All right. In that case red or white wine?** He sends. 

 

And you smile at the question now, before you wonder what he’s thinking as you reply shrewdly, _Your answer. Are you trying to intoxicate me?_

 

Mycroft smiles then, **Perhaps. I have to admit that I find it hard to imagine how you’d behave if you were drunk** , he muses.

 

 _Perhaps one day you’ll find out_ , you send, spinning away from him once more. 

 

And, **How you tease me F/N** , Mycroft replies as lightly as he can, for he knows that he should probably heed the voice that’s telling him in his head to steer away from such playfulness as he’s already far too attached to you as it is and it’s not exactly making things easier for himself considering he’s trying to not be in touch with you for much longer. 

 

But then you send, _I know aren't I terrible?_ And he can almost physically feel himself struggling to pull away from you as he sends, **I couldn't possibly comment. Let’s say we were playing a board game and I won, how would you react?**

 

 _Oh I’d be sore for days_ , you send and this throws him again, for he wasn't expecting such a response and so too curious to pull away now he asks, **Really?**

 

So, _No, I mean I am a little competitive_ , you explain and he lets out a little breath as he reads it, _But if you made me a nice cup of tea or something then I'm sure that would make up for it_ , you go on. 

 

And he really can’t stop himself from reminding you; **Usually it’s the winner that gets a reward.**

 

 _Well, I suppose I’d have to give you something you wanted then_ , you can’t stop yourself from replying and Mycroft swallows, for he doesn't know how to react now _you’re_ the one whispering in his ear. And the collar of his shirt suddenly feels a little tight as he sends hurriedly, **Indeed. Next question?**

 

And you smile a little now, before you go easier on him as you send simply, _Please._

 

So after swallowing again, this time with relief, Mycroft sends, **Tea over coffee?**

 

 _Always. Although coffee on occasions and especially on Monday mornings_ , you answer more seriously. 

 

And, **That sounds very sensible** , Mycroft sends. 

 

 _Good_ , you reply. 

 

Then, **Vinyl, cassette, CD or download?** Mycroft asks because by rapidly asking questions he’s giving himself little room to think about how flirtatious you’d suddenly been with him, or rather about, and this is the more pressing matter, how he hadn't minded it. 

 

_Your answer mainly._

 

**Radio or TV?**

 

 _Well, your answer but if you’d added books as an option then it would have been them for sure_ , you send, getting more into this quick-fire style now. 

 

And Mycroft smiles, before he catches sight of the time and so, **Your answer pleases me but I'm afraid I must go now** , for he has an important dinner reservation with a Minister that he can’t be late for. 

 

So, _Talk later then?_ You send, and you can’t help but feel a little disappointed now even though the weather’s growing cooler and you should probably be heading home.

 

But, **Of course** , Mycroft sends and you feel a bit more reassured. 

 

You cannot know how late that night as Mycroft returns from the dinner, slips inside his bedroom and takes off his watch, before he begins to undress, his mind, no longer able to be distracted by anything, flips at once to your flirtatious text earlier. And he frowns a little now, before whilst he tugs the bed covers back he thinks that perhaps he just misconstrued the whole thing. So after he slides into bed he grabs his phone and brings up the texts from earlier. He hopes of course that by looking at them again he’ll immediately see that yes, his mind has read too much into it. But instead the same pleasant feeling trickles through him again and so he frowns once more, before he puts the phone back down on the bedside cabinet. Then he switches off the bedside lamp, before he pushes himself down into bed and onto his side. Then, of course, he didn't mind what you’d said to him, he thinks irritably. For anyone would have felt the same wouldn't they? And, he thinks now, in your mind it was probably just a bit of harmless fun. You tend to be playful, he reminds himself, so maybe it was just something that you could have said to anyone. And that thought makes him feel oddly disappointed, for in that case you weren't really directing anything at him after all. But then, catching himself, he makes an impatient noise in his throat, before he turns onto his other side. For this is no time to make the situation even more complicated. At the end of the day, he reasons, it was his own fault for asking stupid questions whose answers had no consequence in the first place and your response had just been an unforeseen consequence that he shouldn't dwell on. And with that he closes his eyes and tries to fall asleep determinedly. 

 

*

 

 _God, some people are so rude_ , you send as you get back to your flat one night, before you tug your coat off and throw it across the top of the settee. 

 

 **F/N?** Mycroft sends with a small frown of concern as, still at work, he picks up your text. 

 

So you run a hand through your hair and sit down heavily, before you reply, _Why do some people never move out of the way when you’re trying to walk on the pavement?_

 

And Mycroft can’t help but smile now at the fact that this is your crisis when he’d been discussing the serious issue of the Middle East with people for most of that afternoon. Whilst he also can’t help but feel grateful for your reminder that not everything is as big and migraine inducing as that. **So, I believe they think that a law has been passed** , he sends. 

 

 _For them and not anyone else?_ You send, though already you begin to feel yourself cooling down.

 

 **Exactly** , Mycroft sends, before he can’t help but add as his lip quirks upwards, **I hope you’re somewhere away from the pavement now?**

 

And you laugh a bit now, for you know that you must sound so pathetic to him. So, _Thankfully yes. Sorry, I don’t know why I thought I’d tell you that, it just drives me mad._

 

Mycroft looks up now, then, **Would you call it a pet hate?** He asks, despite the reservations he has of asking you too many questions after the board game debacle a few days ago. 

 

You smile at that then, _Is this an impromptu Q & A? And um, not a pet hate exactly. An irritation?_

 

 **Perhaps** , Mycroft responds lightly, before he asks more intensely, **What else would you deem an ‘irritation’?**

 

And you consider this now. Then, _Hmm, I don’t know, just general rudeness I suppose. Or when people pick on you for things that don’t matter. I once got told I look weird drinking bottled water. I mean why did that seem genuinely important enough for someone to tell me?_

 

Mycroft’s smile grows now, though in all honesty he feels just as baffled as you do by that person. So, **People are very strange** , he sends. 

 

 _That they are_ , you smile. 

 

*

 

 _So going back to the mind palace idea for a moment if I can?_ You ask one night when nothing’s holding your attention on the TV and you don’t feel like reading. 

 

 **Of course** , Mycroft replies politely as he sits on the armchair in the flat, before he wonders what you’re about to ask. 

 

So, _If it’s a mind palace, and in your case a mind palace with a garden, and if you’re really able to store so much information inside it then it must take a while to find what you’re looking for sometimes_ , you muse. 

 

And Mycroft smiles, before he sends reasonably, **It can make you go inside your head for a long period of time sometimes, yes** , before he elaborates, **Sometimes my brother doesn't speak for days** , and then he can’t stop himself from adding, **But as we've established I'm smarter so it doesn't usually take me that long.**

 

So, _Hours?_ you guess with no idea of how close you are to being spot on or not.

 

And, **Occasionally** , Mycroft confesses, before he adds lightly, **Although often I'm too busy to stay inside my head that long.**

 

Whilst you barely speak to your family and ignore Kurt completely and only speak to Sally whenever she rings you and Mycroft ignores Sherlock the best he can. Though that proves difficult when Sherlock insists on telling him every day how many days there are until the month is up. He announces it at every dinner, before at the end of the meal he goes to cross off another day on the calendar. And more than once Mycroft finds himself snapping over it all, focusing his frustration on Sherlock’s lack of a job, rather than dare admitting out loud the real reason that he feels frustrated, which is because the most secret part of him is toying with the idea of staying in touch with you for longer, whilst every other part of him is working over-time to try and shut that small, tentative but persistent part of him down. So as a consequence his head’s rather in a mess about the whole thing. 

 

Then there’s the times where instead of just feeling frustrated his mind focuses on the question, which is why have you, in not even a month, managed to infiltrate something inside him and become so necessary to him? 

 

One night, in the safety of his mind palace, he’d even gone halfway down the ornate patterned path that stretched through the centre of the gold statues and fountains just outside the palace, before he’d stopped at the small pond, which was now in the path’s middle and sat down cross-legged beside it. Then he’d huffed out a breath and stared for a moment at the three garden gnomes on the other side of the pond, who had seemed to stare back at him mockingly as they’d held their pathetic fishing rods, before he’d leaned forwards slightly so that he could see the one goldfish in the pond. It had been swimming around its new world contentedly and he’d followed its progress with his eyes, before he’d leaned back again in silent contemplation. Then he’d picked up the piece of paper and pen beside him and tried to compile some sort of a list, for reasons as to why you might have been able to infiltrate him and sneak past the heavily guarded walls. For there must be something special about you, he’d mused, something unique. 

 

But as time had passed and he’d continued to think about it all the paper had continued to be blank. And so he’d huffed a little, before he’d thrown it and the pen aside in frustration. As he’d done so the goldfish had stopped its movements and stilled and his face had softened for a moment as he’d looked at it. Then tentatively he’d crouched on all fours, before he’d gone down onto his stomach and dipped a finger into the pond. His movement had sent out ripples towards the little fish and for a moment it had frozen up entirely, before it had darted as far away from his finger that it could go in its small confines. So Mycroft had let out a little sigh, before he’d clambered to his feet once more and brushed down his trousers. Then as he’d looked at the fish one last time, before he’d spun up, up and out of his mind palace he’d realized that he’d known the answer, before he’d even begun his search. For the reason is you. All of you, as a whole, are why you've managed to scale his walls. But such knowledge had not made him feel any more comfortable. 

 

*

 

Mycroft has had, had an unexpectedly poor day, one where his work has been fraught with difficulties and where all his troubles seemed to weigh on his mind more heavily. He’d thought though, having come home to see that for once the table was clear of Sherlock’s chemicals and available, once it was cleaned properly, of course, to eat dinner by, that there might yet be a silver lining to the whole day. He should have known he was wrong. 

 

For, “Two days,” Sherlock says at dinner and Mycroft’s body stiffens instinctively, before he lifts a mouthful of rice to his lips with his fork instead of meeting Sherlock’s intense but amused gaze. And this method works fairly well with Mycroft chewing his mouthful as slowly as he can, before he swallows it, until, “I must confess I'm surprised you've managed to last this long,” Sherlock says and Mycroft’s hands tense upon his cutlery. But before he can lift another mouthful to his lips as a welcome distraction Sherlock goes on conversationally, “You know what? I don’t think you should just delete her number after the month’s up,” and Mycroft can’t help but look at him now as some strange hope that Sherlock will decide the whole thing for him rises through his chest, before it falls back down again as Sherlock says, “I think you should tell her about the bet. We could do it together, you could put your phone on speaker like before and then we could see how she’d react,” and Mycroft swallows now, before to his horror, his hands begin to tremble slightly. So he lays down his knife and fork on his plate, despite the fact that he’s no way near finished, and pushes the plate a little away from him. And, “What is it?” Sherlock asks in a tone that suggests he’s oblivious, but of course he isn't, of course what he’s been doing through all these dinners where Mycroft has grown more and more irritated, is just conducting his own experiment. An experiment to see how far Mycroft can be pushed. An experiment to try and tell, whether Mycroft is perhaps feeling something because of your contact after all. And, Sherlock thinks now, as he recalls the way he’d observed his brother’s hands shaking just then, perhaps he’s about to come to the end of this particular experiment. But he knows that he’ll have to act fast because Mycroft’s hands are now underneath the table and he’s probably kneading them together as he tries to calm down and regain some control. So, before the volcano can cool Sherlock says, “Hmm, I wonder how she’d react. What do you think? Do you think she’d be angry? Upset? Do you think she’d cry?” Sherlock pauses slyly now, his eyes half-on Mycroft, whose lips part, before Sherlock ponders, “Maybe she wouldn't be fussed though,” and now he puts his cutlery down on his plate and wipes his hands, before he leans back to look at Mycroft. Then, “Perhaps she hasn't been enjoying your conversations as much as you’d no doubt like to think, maybe she’s just using you like you’re using her”-

 

“Be quiet,” Mycroft interrupts and although he didn't shout it the words are tense, his eyes are dark and there’s an ugly red blotch across the centre of his face so Sherlock knows that all he has to do is wait. Then there’s a small noise as something hits the bottom of the table and Sherlock senses that Mycroft must have moved his hands and that they are still shaking, hence the noise. In the next moment Mycroft dislodges a piece of rice that’s got stuck in between his teeth, before he swallows it whilst he looks down at the table and takes a couple of deep breaths in a final attempt to cool down. But it is no good, he can’t just swallow this anger back down, so he looks back up at his brother and, “Have you ever thought, throughout your pre-occupation with whom I contact, to take control of your own life?” he asks and his voice shakes slightly now with anger. “Has it ever occurred to you that instead of playing with your silly chemicals all day long and making jibes at me you could actually put that energy into something useful?” 

 

And Sherlock’s face flushes in an ugly fashion now, before he stands up suddenly, shoots Mycroft a satisfied look and then strides to cross off another day on the calendar. 

 

Mycroft can’t take any more so he gets up now, breathing hard, and then he grabs his suit jacket off the back of his chair as he turns on his heel, before he slips it on quickly with clumsy fingers that make a growl of irritation leave his throat and marches out of the flat. 

 

It is not long after that, that he finds himself sitting on the same bench that he first asked you to continue your contact with him on. He recalls how dull the sky seemed that day but on this day it is a little more cheerful. Still a little dull but more white than grey and there are more people walking about. Teenagers in groups, dog walkers, couples walking hand in hand…

 

His phone rings and he picks it up with a soft, “Mycroft Holmes speaking.”

 

“Hi,” comes your voice and he observes that you sound quite bright and cheerful, much like the atmosphere around him, and of course the polar opposite of how he is feeling at the moment. “I've been thinking, you know how when you deduced me you said I didn't really feel comfortable in my job?” 

 

“Of course,” he replies a little tiredly, for although that conversation only happened just over three weeks ago it feels, in that moment, like it had happened months and months ago. 

 

“Well,” you continue, still a little bubbly and excited, “You were right, it is because I don’t really want a job like that,” and he can hear the low thrum of people and traffic behind your words and he imagines you sitting on a park bench somewhere too. “I want to be a writer”- and that is all it takes for the soothing sight of you on a bench to evaporate from his mind and for all the tiredness and frustration he feels to take over-“Some people at work wanted to see some of my writing, so I showed them a little today and they really liked it so maybe”-

 

“There’s no stability in such a career,” Mycroft interrupts, for he cannot bear to let you live in this fantasy for any longer. 

 

 _“But”-_ you protest, and he can hear the slight surprise and disappointment in your voice. 

 

Still, “There isn't F/N. It’s a temptation put there by the devil himself that attracts everyone but few actually manage to survive off it. You’d be utterly miserable”-

 

“Can I just”-

 

“You’d be wasting your life like my brother”-

 

“What’s so _wrong_ with not wanting a normal, office job? Why can’t I want something else”-

 

“Because it’s something unobtainable,” Mycroft replies, whilst he feels utterly exasperated with you, for he has already struggled to drag Sherlock back up the rabbit hole from Wonderland and he doesn't know whether he has the energy to carry you too, “And if you stay with the job you have you’re almost guaranteed to make progress at some point. There’s no sense in abandoning it for”-

 

“But what’s the point in progressing anywhere if I'm not happy?”-

 

“There’s more to life than happiness”- Mycroft begins, before he cuts off when he hears a soft click at the other end of the line. So, _“F/N?”_ he attempts, but there is no answer and when he takes the phone away from his ear to look at it he sees that you've disconnected the call from your end. So after a small frown he tries to ring you back but it just goes to the answer phone machine. He doesn't leave a message. Instead he returns his phone back to his pocket, sighs and puts his head in his hands. 

 

He doesn't notice the crestfallen, young woman who walks by, fresh tears on her face as she keeps her head low, almost tucked into her coat, whilst her mind focuses on the conversation she’d just had with a man who seems so clever but seems to not understand hopes and dreams. 

 

*

 

“You couldn't even last a month,” Sherlock says, his voice disgusted, when Mycroft comes tiredly through the door, before he stops to look at him. And Sherlock notices now that Mycroft looks older than he had at dinner. 

 

But Mycroft huffs out a small sigh and makes for his bedroom-

 

So, “What is it? Did she find out about the bet?” Sherlock asks calculatingly from his armchair.

 

But Mycroft just steps inside his bedroom and closes the door tightly behind him. 

 

Sherlock raises an eyebrow, not understanding, before he leaps up in a catlike fashion and pads across to stand outside Mycroft’s door. Then, “Mycroft?” he asks and he feels a little annoyed with how uncertain his voice sounds. 

 

But, “I'm in no mood to deal with you tonight Sherlock, or anyone else for that matter, please leave me alone,” Mycroft drones out tiredly as he lies on his side on top of the bed, still wearing his white shirt, trousers and black socks. 

 

Sherlock frowns and slides down the door into a sitting position. 

 

For the longest of times there is silence and Mycroft feels certain that Sherlock has given up on him, but then, “What happened?” Sherlock asks. 

 

Mycroft turns around so that his back is now to the door, then he raises his head a little and calls out loud enough for Sherlock to hear, “She’s a dreamer, like you.”

 

Sherlock frowns a little again, then, “Why does that bother you so much? If you’re not going to contact her again after the next two days then it hardly matters.”

 

Mycroft huffs a little at the irony of that, because for some reason that he hasn't worked out yet it does matter. It matters a great deal and far more than he’d ever thought it would.

 

Then as the realization that perhaps his brother has been feeling more than he’d ever thought hits him Sherlock blurts out clumsily, “Do you want to keep in contact with her after the month’s up? You can if”-

 

“I know I can, I don’t need your permission,” Mycroft interrupts a little touchily because of course he’s thought of this, but the idea of keeping in touch with you indefinitely, of never having an end date, scares him a little too because he knows that if he stays in touch with you beyond this month then he’ll never not contact you again. And he’s never had to rely on anyone before but- 

 

“What do you two talk about anyway?” Sherlock asks, before after a slight moment of hesitation he says, “You said you’d show me”-

 

“And when the month’s up I will,” Mycroft confirms as he rolls over onto his back, before he sits up and pulls his knees to his chest because the idea of showing Sherlock those messages, of his brother seeing something, which has begun to feel incredibly personal and intimate to him suddenly makes him feel uncomfortable, something which he realizes with some self-mockery that he could have never foreseen coming when all this started. 

 

“But if you’re not going to talk to her, before then because you’re too busy sulking then I might as well”-

 

“Fine,” Mycroft snaps coolly, before he swipes his phone off the bedside cabinet, swings himself off the bed and opens the door. 

 

Sherlock adjusts his position and looks up at Mycroft, who raises one eyebrow at him. Then very slowly and deliberately Mycroft passes the phone to him. 

 

Sherlock takes it but does not immediately look at it, he just keeps on looking at Mycroft, until Mycroft asks, “You did want to see it didn't you? Obviously you won’t be able to listen to our calls but our texts are all there.”

 

Sherlock opens his mouth now, but before he can speak Mycroft steps forwards, turns slightly to close the door and then turns back, before he slides down the door until he is sitting next to Sherlock on the floor. Then, “Are you really sure you want to be a consulting detective?” he asks, his head turned towards Sherlock, and his eyes show that he wants to try and make sense of things.

 

Sherlock, who wasn't expecting that just then, feels surprised for a moment, before he looks into Mycroft’s eyes and states clearly, “Yes, I do,” before, “Why do you think I said my number had changed to yours?” he asks.

 

“I think,” Mycroft begins carefully, his eyes on Sherlock’s, “In the hope that they would bombard me with calls requesting your help so that I would have no choice but to eventually come to see that you could make a career out of this,” and Sherlock nods, his eyes full of satisfaction, but, “You perhaps overlooked the fact that when I realized what had happened I was bound to phone the Yard straight away to inform them that your number had not in fact changed,” Mycroft adds.

 

Sherlock shrugs indifferently as if it had been worth such a risk, then, “I thought it could happen that way,” he admits, before, “I was rather hoping they’d at least get the chance to phone you once, before you worked it out, but then again I wasn't expecting you to be alerted so soon to the fact by a woman now was I?” 

 

And there’s a small silence between them now and Mycroft, prompted by Sherlock’s words, cannot help but think of you, before he sighs a little and then gets to the real point when he says, “She said tonight that she wants to be a writer. She’s got a safe sounding office job but”-

 

“Not everyone can be like you Mycroft,” Sherlock interrupts him softly but not harshly. 

 

“I know,” Mycroft murmurs, before he gives his brother a thin-lipped smile as he says, “I think you've already been showing me that _but_ …”

 

“What is it?” 

 

“Why take such a _risk_? Why jeopardize everything for something that might not pay off?” Mycroft asks now, his brow furrowing as he tries to make sense of it all. 

 

Sherlock smiles slightly then, “Don’t tell me you've never taken a risk in your supposedly ‘safe’ office job to get to where you are now?” he asks.

 

And although Mycroft doesn't answer he smiles and bows his head a little in silent acknowledgement at the truth in his brother’s words. 

 

Sherlock stands up now and then he makes to pass the phone back to Mycroft. 

 

Mycroft looks at the phone, before he looks up at his brother curiously. 

 

Then, “Call her,” Sherlock says. 

 

“You don’t want?”-

 

“Oh I've already had enough proof that you've been in contact with her. If you hadn't then we would never have been able to have the conversation we just have so calmly,” and now Sherlock gives a little smirk, before he nods back at the phone and adds, “And if I did want to read them it wouldn't exactly be hard for me to hack into your phone now, would it?” and Mycroft rolls his eyes slightly as Sherlock goes off into his own bedroom. 

 

For a moment Mycroft just stays on the floor, hardly daring to believe that the calm moment he just had with Sherlock actually happened. Then he gets to his feet, shuffles back into his room and sits on his bed once more. 

 

For the longest of times he just sits there, staring at his phone, wondering if you’ll even pick up this time if he tries to call you and wondering what on earth he’ll say to you if you do. 

 

He’s still not certain of the answer to either of these things when he finally dials your number and presses the phone to his ear. It rings and he finds a hundred different possibilities of what he could say to you running through his mind. But then it goes to the answer phone machine and his shoulders slump slightly. So he tries again. And a third time after that but the same thing happens both times. 

 

Then he gives up trying to call you and decides to try and text you instead. **I'm sorry** , he tries, before he decides that isn't right so, **I hope you can forgive me for what happened earlier** , but that isn't right either and finally he thinks he might go back to just sending, **I'm sorry** , but that feels too short and it in no way expresses what he wants you to know. And he thinks now that it was far easier when he didn't know you so well and especially when feelings weren't really involved and, “Caring is not an advantage,” he can’t help but remind himself now. But he knows too that, that isn't exactly the answer here either. For whether you want to carry on talking to him in the future or not after this he knows he can’t just not have at least one more conversation with you to try and make amends. So he ponders what the best method to do this might be, before he decides that a text with any words won’t be properly sufficient. Then he calls you again and this time when it goes to the answer phone machine he leaves a message. “I'm very sorry for what I said earlier F/N,” he says, “I had no right to be so dismissive, especially since I've never read anything you've written. And it was very wrong of me to tell you that your happiness doesn't matter when of course it does. I hope that you will forgive me. I didn't mean to upset you I just…” and now he trails off and scrunches his face up a little as he works out how to go on, then, “I think between you saying that and my brother wanting to lead the life he does, it just, it just became too much for me in that moment. I do hope you won’t stop talking to me because of it. I’ll try and be more understanding in the future, that is, if we continue our contact with each other, which like I've stated I hope we will. Right. So I’ll hear from you soon hopefully? Goodbye then,” and as he disconnects and lowers the phone to his lap he wonders if he was too awkward, for he’s never been any good with feelings and if his words will be enough to repair you. 

 

But much to his chagrin another two hours pass without him hearing from you and he is almost asleep, his eyes fluttering between being open and shut when finally his phone vibrates. He sits up at once, rubs a quick hand across his eyes and then stretches his arm to first switch on the bedside lamp and then to pick up his phone from the bedside cabinet. Then when he sees that it is your number his heart does a little jump, before he hurriedly presses the phone to his ear and says eagerly, “Hello? F/N?”

 

“You really upset me earlier,” your voice says and Mycroft’s heart sinks back down a little and he automatically chews on his bottom lip, whilst he sits up properly, his back resting against the headboard. 

 

Then, “I know,” he admits softly. 

 

“And you made me feel so bad because everything’s been pretty rubbish lately and today was the first day where I felt really good and then you…”

 

 _‘Spoilt it,’_ Mycroft mouths despairingly, before he presses his free hand to his forehead because he’s getting the feeling now that he might have lost even the chance to decide whether or not he wants to stay in touch with you. 

 

“You said _that_ ,” you continue, “And do you know what the worst thing was? I couldn't even complain about you to anyone because everyone’s just waiting for an excuse to hate you”-

 

“By everyone do you mean your brother?” Mycroft finally interrupts you to ask. 

 

There’s a slight pause, then, “How did you know?” you sniff. 

 

Mycroft swallows. Then, “I thought he might know of our contact after the day you visited him. I regret it now obviously but I wasn't being discreet enough at the time. And the fact that you've neglected to mention him to me ever since”-

 

“Yes. He’s not”- and you hesitate now, before-“He thinks you might be dangerous or something.”

 

Mycroft takes a moment just to take that in, then, “Like I've said before I only occupy a minor position in the British government so I”-

 

“I _know_ ,” you interrupt and he feels surprised when you sound tearful, “But he went so over the top that day and because I don’t even know what you look like”-

 

“Are looks really that important?”

 

“No, of _course_ not,” you say and you sound frustrated now, “It’s just it got him even more worked up…and then there’s _Sally_ ”-

 

“Your friend?”

 

“Yes.”

 

So, “What about her?” Mycroft asks. 

 

“She…she,” you begin extremely hesitantly and Mycroft pictures you biting your lip and swallowing, before you continue, “She said that if you’re anything like your brother then I should stay away from you.”

 

Mycroft lets out a small breath now and then, “Well, in that case, how would you like to proceed?” he asks. 

 

“How do you mean?” 

 

“Well,” he begins a little impatiently, “The way I see it you can either stop talking to me altogether and perhaps in the circumstances that would be the best option. Especially if I'm coming between your relationship with your brother, or we can continue as we are,” he says as he gives you now, rather than Sherlock, or even himself, the final decision on how long this contact will last for. 

 

A long silence follows his words and Mycroft wonders what you are thinking. He pictures you now, perhaps on your own bed, almost curled up in a sitting position and for some reason he pictures it raining lightly outside your window. Perhaps you are looking towards it and watching the raindrops race each other, whilst you think about what he has just said. Or perhaps you keep a photo of your family by your bedside and your gaze turns to that instead, your eyes fixing on your brother…

 

But then, “You make it sound so simple but it isn't,” he hears you say and he wonders whether you meant to say it or whether you were just thinking out loud so he opens his mouth uncertainly. “I barely know you,” you continue and he closes his mouth with a snap, before his heart quickens its pace as he braces himself to hear you say that you don’t want to stay in touch with him any more. And suddenly that’s it, he’s got the answer he’s been agonizing for over the past couple of weeks as he finally realizes that yes, he does want to stay in touch with you and to hell with all the feelings that involves. But a fear encases him now, for after all it matters not what he thinks any more as he has passed the decision to you, and as his breathing becomes even more uneven he feels sure of what answer you’ll give, until, “But I don’t want to stop speaking to you,” you say and Mycroft blinks now. “I don’t even know how it happened but…” 

 

“Yes?” Mycroft encourages you tentatively, all his thoughts temporarily frozen as he waits for your answer. 

 

“I…I…look forward to hearing from you. But are-are we friends? I mean if, if your brother or someone asked you whether you’d consider us friends, would you say you did?” 

 

“Yes,” Mycroft replies at once without thinking, but he knows it’s true as soon as he says it and then because he’s worried that he might have replied too quickly to be convincing he adds, “I would.”

 

There’s a small pause now and Mycroft hopes that you’re using it to smile, even if it’s only a small one. But, “Even though we've never met? Even though if either of us were asked to describe the other we wouldn't be able to?” you persist. 

 

And Mycroft frowns slightly, before he thinks of something and says, “But when you think about what we do know about each other you’ll realize that we know all the important things”-

 

“Like?” 

 

“Like each other’s favourite cakes,” he replies and he feels immediately encouraged when he hears you giggle on the other end of the line. So, “Dry your eyes F/N. I want to try something.”

 

“What?” you ask uncertainly. 

 

“I'm going to try and be creative like you and tell you a bedtime story. You are welcome to interrupt me at any time or to, at the end, tell me that it was rubbish and that you could do far better,” Mycroft explains and he feels something warm fill him inside when he hears you laugh again. Then, “Forgive me if I'm being too forward but are you in bed?” he asks you.

 

“Yes,” you reply. 

 

“Tell me what you can see,” Mycroft breathes. 

 

“Aren't you supposed to be telling me a story?” you ask a little playfully.

 

“Yes, but I need to be able to see what you can, before I begin,” Mycroft explains. 

 

So, “Okay,” you murmur, before, “Well, I'm lying on my back so all I can really see at the moment is the white ceiling,” and Mycroft rolls his eyes a little now, before, “But if I turn my head I can see the window”-

 

“What’s the weather like?”

 

“It’s raining lightly,” you say and Mycroft smiles a little, before, “And I think there’s a breeze too, but it’s not a harsh one. My duvet and pillow are too nice though and I'm too warm anyway to care that much about it being rainy or windy outside.”

 

“Can you hear any people?” 

 

“Just the low thrum of next door’s TV, there was a couple shouting on the floor below earlier but they seem to have calmed down now.” 

 

Mycroft lies down inside his own bed now so that his eyes can see his own white ceiling and since he can hear your soft breathing on the other end of the line he can almost believe you are beside him. Then, “All right,” he murmurs, “I’ll begin the story now if you’re ready.”

 

“I am,” you assure him and as he pictures you closing your eyes now he wonders what colour they are. 

 

Then, “Once upon a time”- he begins and you laugh. So, “Isn't that how all the best stories start?” he asks. 

 

“Okay, you got me there, please continue,” you tell him and he smiles. 

 

“There was a woman called F/N M/N L/N,” and he can almost see you smiling at the other end, “She believed that she was perfectly ordinary but in fact she turned out to be most extraordinary. But she took a while to see this. It all began on one day. You see that day she decided that rather than wait to be invited to the land’s annual ball she would find a way to learn to dance herself and therefore make sure that she was invited. So she went to seek the help of the best dancer in the land”-

 

“Let me guess,” you interrupt him teasingly, “That man’s name was Mycroft Holmes.”

 

“Why of course,” Mycroft replies with a smile, “And you found that you liked each other very much,” and of course he cannot know how much those words make your heart jump pleasantly, “But then it began to rain, lightly at first, then much heavier as the other people in the land began to fill your head with dark thoughts. Since they did not believe that Mycroft Holmes was in fact the best dancer in the land.”

 

“What happened then?” you ask and you sound as if you are fighting off sleep now, which makes Mycroft smile once again. 

 

And he’s too caught up in it all to notice the tell tale creak of the floor boards, which is a sure sign of Sherlock padding out of his own bedroom, having been drawn out by the low melody of Mycroft’s voice. Or to hear the slight brush of noise as Sherlock slides down to sit by the door once more, feeling inexplicably lonely as he listens. 

 

So, “Mycroft and you carry on talking and talking and talking and one day, all the other people, seeing how close you have become cannot doubt either of you any more. For such a lot of time has passed by then with no foul trickery befalling you that they have to see that he means you no harm,” Mycroft says and as he finishes sincerely he feels a little circle of desperation rotate and grow within his stomach, for he cannot help but think of the bet he had with Sherlock and hope that you never find out about it, for that would definitely hurt both you and your relationship with him.

 

There’s a small pause, then, “Mycroft?” you blurt out suddenly, your voice a little muffled and he wonders if you have turned onto your side and if your face is against your pillow.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Thank you,” you breathe and his heart jumps a little. Then, “Do I get to go to the ball?” you ask. 

 

“Hmm?”

 

“In the story?”

 

“Oh, yes,” he says, before he adds rather proudly, “And you’re the best dancer there,” and Sherlock smiles a little from his post now. 

 

“Aside from you,” you point out sleepily.

 

Mycroft’s lip twitches, then, “Aside from me,” he agrees, before he can’t help but add a little sneakily, “But we’re dancing together for most of the night so technically no one notices the difference between us,” and Sherlock rolls his eyes now, for his brother might have no idea where this is heading but he’s already beginning to see where it could. 

 

You make a satisfied kind of noise, then, “You’re very good at this,” you confess and you sound more awake now and less muffled as if your head is propped up by your arm.

 

“Good at what my dear?” Mycroft asks politely, the term of affection rolling off his tongue naturally. 

 

There’s a slight pause then in which Mycroft hopes that he hasn't overstepped the mark in calling you that, for he cannot know that you’re trying to imprint the exact way he said it into your mind forever, or the way that it had made you smile, then, “Good at making me feel better,” you reply. 

 

“I'm flattered that you feel that way,” Mycroft says and he truly does feel pleased, more pleased in fact than he has felt about anything else the whole day. 

 

And for the longest of times there is a pleasant silence between you, one where you listen to each other breathing. 

 

Then, “Mycroft?” you ask tentatively. 

 

“Hmm?” he hums. 

 

“Will you stay on the line until I fall asleep?”

 

“Of course,” Mycroft promises without any hesitation.

 

And that is how you fall asleep, to the sound of light rain on one side and Mycroft’s breathing on the other. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little note to say that the story that the Reader tells Mycroft about looking weird whilst drinking water is a true one. Someone actually said that to me and yes I still get annoyed whenever I remember it. ;)


	4. Umbrellas in the Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or the one where Sherlock throws everything into chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, thanks so much to you all for your continued support! It means a lot!   
> I hope you enjoy this chapter too! :) Although, knowing what this chapter is about, maybe enjoy isn't the right word here...

_It’s so hot today_ , you text.

 

_The park’s full of people_ , and indeed it is, couples laugh, friends chatter and children run back and for, their imaginations in full flow just like the sun, which shines above you as you walk across the short grass rather than following the winding path. 

 

And you can’t help but text now; _Do you ever look around and wonder if you see me?_ Because that’s what you've started to think about. Have Mycroft and you actually seen each other before without knowing? Have you passed each other in the street or come close to doing so? Then, _Do you think you’d know it was me if you did?_ Because every time you ponder the first question this is what follows. Would perhaps Mycroft, now that you know each other more and what with him being so perceptive and everything perhaps realize it was you if he did see you? Would he approach you? Would you perhaps go for coffee together? Then because you realize you haven’t exactly given him a chance to breathe in between texts, let alone respond, you send, _Sorry I just realized that I sent you four [now five] texts in a row with barely any gap, but it’s like I can’t help it, the sky’s smiling_ , and you don’t even know why but as you send it you feel a little giddy like your heart could burst into a thousand pieces of glitter, or like laughter could escape your lips at any moment. 

 

Mycroft smiles as he picks that one up at his desk. For unlike the other texts you’d just sent, which had made him feel uncomfortable because right now he’s still getting used to the fact that somehow he’s still in touch with you so the thought of going beyond that right now is not one that he can actually even consider, this one he can reply to. So, **‘The sky’s smiling.’ Such a charming thing to say F/N** , he sends, before a moment later he adds, **Unfortunately I have to work today so the weather is rather passing me by but I'm glad it’s pleasing you.**

 

_But it’s Saturday!_ You protest as you head towards the park gates and your heart can’t help but sink a little as you feel sorry that he’s missing out on such a spectacular day. 

 

**I am aware** , Mycroft sends back, whilst he smiles a thin-lipped smile. 

 

And you’re not quite sure how to respond to that so, _They make you work too hard. I hope they at least pay you well_ , you send finally. 

 

**The pay is not something I would complain about, no** , Mycroft begins, closing that line of conversation, before he adds, **Are you still at the park?**

 

_No, I just left it. I'm going over to Sally’s to have a bit of a catch up. She’s been so busy with work lately_ , you send as you walk along the pavement, almost bumping into people as you do so, so you have to keep muttering, “Sorry,” to pretty much everyone. 

 

Something shifts uncomfortably in Mycroft’s chest at the mention of Sally, but **I hope you’ll have a pleasant time** , he sends politely. 

 

You smile a little bit at that, before you stop for a moment to dig something out of a plastic bag and take a quick photo of it with your phone. Then, _Thanks. Oh, I almost forgot, here look at this: attached is a photo of a sumptuous looking red velvet cake in a box._

 

**Now I take back what I said about hoping you have a pleasant time as I feel the utmost jealousy. Where did you obtain it?** Mycroft asks and when you read it, it is as if he had just said it out loud to you, for you can almost hear the teasing tone that he would have said it with. 

 

You shake yourself a little to break out of your thought about Mycroft’s voice as you begin to walk once more, then, _The supermarket earlier on_ , you begin and you hesitate a moment, before you add, _I have to admit it was a kind of deliberate choice._

 

And as Mycroft reads your text he cannot help but feel pleased, before he asks enquiringly, **Because of me?**

 

_Of course_ , you put as you smile, then you look up and see that you’re almost at Sally’s so, _Oh, I'm almost there now. Talk later?_

 

**I look forward to it. Enjoy the cake and think of me as you eat it, toiling away in the office** , Mycroft sends, before he reluctantly pushes his phone aside and goes back to work.

 

*

 

“F/N, what are you doing?” Sally asks you when you come back to her kitchen after going to the toilet to find her standing by the table as she holds your phone up in the air. 

 

“Did you just go through my phone?” you ask, although you’re annoyed with yourself too for leaving it on the table in plain sight next to your half-full cup of tea. 

 

“I was worried,” Sally begins, before she continues hurriedly on as you wrench your mouth open, “And for good reason too it turns out. How long are you going to let this continue?” 

 

“Let what?”-

 

_“This!”_ and she waves your phone about a bit now, before, “Whatever you think this is between Mycroft and you”-

 

“He’s my friend, like you’re my friend too, _supposedly_ ”-

 

“ _Friend?_ F/N, how can you call him that? We've known each other for years! _We’re_ friends. We actually see each other. You've known him what, two months now? And you've never even met him. Do you even know what he looks like?”

 

You open your mouth but apparently Sally has already got her answer, for she continues, “I was talking to my boss about him, he says that he seems really posh and uptight, like someone you don’t want to”-

 

“Well, he’s never been _anything_ but nice to me Sally so”-

 

“Are you choosing him over the people you actually know?”-

 

“I'm not choosing him over anyone! I _want_ to choose everyone that’s the whole point!”

 

Sally stares at you guardedly for a moment, then she lays your phone back on the table, before she looks up at you and says evenly, “Kurt came over last night”-

 

“Is that the only reason you invited me here today?”-

 

“And he was really worried about you F/N. He said that you haven’t talked to him for over a month,” she says as calmly as she can.

 

You fold your arms now, your head tilted on its side, then, “So he got you, little Miss Police, to do his dirty work for him, did he?”

 

“F/N I'm not saying, and I'm sure Kurt isn't either, that you can’t ever contact Mycroft again but I think you need to take a step back because it’s like ever since you started talking to him you've been pushing the rest of us away, you know pushing the people you _actually_ see”-

 

“Maybe that’s because ever since I said I was still talking to him all of you have made me feel like I'm stuck in the middle the whole time! It’s like you all want me to have the job, the husband, the house, but when I actually _dare_ to talk to someone new”-

 

“My point is F/N, that if you really want to choose everyone, then you have to _actually_ choose everyone, and at the moment, with you not talking to Kurt, you’re hardly choosing him are you?” Sally interrupts you coolly. For a moment you just stare at each other. Then, “I know you enjoy talking to Mycroft,” she relents a little, but, “I just think you’re in way too deep here. The way you talk together…” and she looks away from you now. 

 

So, “What?” you ask softly. 

 

“I don’t know,” Sally admits, “But it worries me. I think one day he’s going to really hurt you”- and she breaks off when you sigh, before she watches as you swipe your phone off the table, turn away and leave, “And I think he’s going to break your heart,” she finishes just after you step out of the front door. 

 

*

 

_Well Sally still doesn't understand_ , you text Mycroft a little miserably as you walk back down the street and towards the park. Though your mood is much different now then to when you were walking through it earlier. In fact you feel so different that it feels like your earlier happiness had occurred on a completely different day. 

 

Mycroft sighs as he reads it, for he’s had a bad feeling writhing inside him ever since you’d mentioned Sally’s name earlier. Then, **I'm sorry** , he texts, before he tries to lighten your mood by sending a moment later, **Did you at least enjoy the cake?**

 

You stop as soon as you read it and nearly cause a woman who’s been walking quickly behind you to bump into you, before you huff a little and run a frustrated hand through your tousled hair. Then, _Shit! I left it at Sally’s house!_ you send. 

 

Mycroft considers the time and the amount of paperwork on his desk, before he ignores both the fact that he has little time and the fact that there is a lot of paperwork to do and sends, **Would you like me to phone you?**

 

Something about the gesture almost makes you cry, before you feel a little stupid, but in any case you could really do with talking to him now so, _Okay_ , you send. 

 

“F/N,” Mycroft’s voice fills your ear a moment later and he sounds a little tense. 

 

“Hi,” you mutter, feeling both angry and sad. 

 

Then, “Are you okay?” he asks you and his voice is full of concern. 

 

“Not really,” you confess. 

 

“What did she say this time?” he asks. 

 

“She said that Kurt visited her yesterday”-

 

_“Ah.”_

 

“Yes, exactly,” you agree, before, “So obviously they've been talking and working each other up about nothing and she’s been talking about you to her boss as well”-

 

“So, apparently, her new hobby is talking about me to anyone she can”-

 

You snort a little, then, “Yeah, seems that way. Do you want to know what she looks like just in case she tries to follow you home?”

 

Mycroft chuckles a little now, then, “No, I find the visual idea my imagination gives me to be much more amusing.”

 

“Which is?” you smile. 

 

“Well, clearly she’s part reptile, but in an animated fashion, so she must have the red eyes, the pink forked tongue”- and he cuts off as you laugh now. 

 

Then, “Don’t forget the evil laugh,” you remind him and he makes an amused noise in his throat. 

 

“So are you going to contact your brother again?” Mycroft asks. 

 

You sigh a little now, then, “I guess so,” you reply, before you admit, “Not speaking to him isn't exactly helping, _oddly_ enough.”

 

Mycroft smiles at that last bit of sarcasm from you, then, “If you’d like to talk after you call him then please don’t hesitate to call me,” he says.

 

And, “Thank you,” you reply sincerely. 

 

*

 

You stare at your phone as you sit slightly hunched forwards on the settee. Ringing your brother shouldn't be this hard, you think. But suddenly it is. 

 

You sigh, and then, before you can lose your nerve you hurriedly dial the number. It rings and your body tenses. 

 

Then, “F/N?” comes Kurt’s voice and you can’t blame him for sounding surprised. 

 

“Hey, Kurt, I um…well…”

 

“Is everything okay? Is it”-

 

“No I'm fine and please don’t lecture me now. I just wanted to speak to you again. Not talking to you has been really weird.”

 

“I'm not going to lecture you F/N but are you being safe with this guy?”-

 

“Kurt!” you splutter indignantly. 

 

“No, I mean,” and you can see him blushing and shifting his position awkwardly now, “You haven’t been telling him too much about you have you? He doesn't know where you live”-

 

“He doesn't even know what I look like.”

 

“Good,” Kurt replies strongly and you can hear the relief in his voice. Then, “Just…just take care of yourself when you talk to him, okay?”

 

“Oh, so is that you actually giving me permission to talk to him now?” You can’t help but snipe. 

 

“F/N,” Kurt protests tiredly. 

 

“Sorry,” you say. 

 

So, “I'm sorry too,” he says, “For-for how I reacted before, it was just a shock that’s all, I'm not really used to you talking to other guys. I was just worried,” and you can tell from the way he says it that he’s still worried.

 

“I know,” you tell him softly, then, “So I’ll talk to you soon?” you say.

 

“Sure, will you be visiting soon?” Kurt asks. 

 

There’s a bit of a pause and then, “Um…maybe,” you say, not exactly convincingly. 

 

“See you F/N,” Kurt says resignedly.

 

“Bye,” you say, before you disconnect the call. 

 

_It didn't actually go too bad_ , you text Mycroft because you find that you don’t need to call him after all. 

 

**Good** , he replies.

 

*

 

It is the beginning of July when things go wrong again. 

 

It is odd because the day goes along quite uneventfully until Mycroft gets home around half-past six that night to find that Sherlock isn't there. That isn't that unusual these days though. For Mycroft has noticed that Sherlock’s been helping the police with more cases and also observed him looking at flats on his laptop, so it is possible that their days of living together might be drawing to a steady close, but for some reason he can’t shake off the feeling that something isn't right that night. 

 

Still at first he just takes a couple of deep breathes to steady himself and tries to carry on normally by making dinner. 

 

Everything’s in the oven and he’s half-leaning against the counter, his eyes looking at the bottle of wine to the side of him as he wonders if it would be wise to drink any when he decides against it and fishes out his phone instead. 

 

He takes a breath and then making up his mind completely he phones Anthea. 

 

He feels a bit better when it’s done and when he knows that there will be other people keeping an eye out for Sherlock too. But it doesn't last long and when he’s picking at his dinner [eating it on a tray, whilst he sits on the settee because Sherlock has commandeered the table with his chemicals once more] he feels uneasy again. So he gets up, goes across to tip the majority of his dinner in the bin and then after placing his plate in the sink he strides towards the door. And he is almost upon it when the sight of his long, thin black umbrella leaning against the wall close by makes him stop dead. It doesn't look like rain and Mycroft doesn't really think it will, or indeed care if it does, but something about it makes him take it in his hand and leave with it anyway. 

 

*

 

“Sir? Are you sure it's him?” Sally asks, half-leaning over her boss’s desk as she stares at Lestrade who’s pacing back and forth close to the window, looking agitated with his suit in disarray and his silver hair ruffled as he keeps running his hands through it. 

 

“From the sounds of it yes. Six-foot tall, thin, curly-haired…Christ,” Lestrade finishes and he stops and turns now, before he stares at her, then, “All right,” he begins heavily, “We better get going, come on,” and he throws one last glance out of the window now, before he freezes up completely. 

 

Sally, who’d half-turned ready to go, senses the hesitation and looks back at him, before, “Sir?” she questions, shifting her position and her jacket makes a slight rustling noise as she does so. 

 

“Shit, it’s his brother,” Lestrade curses, before he darts into action and runs around the desk with a cry of, “His brother!” to get Sally to move so she follows him swiftly as he clatters downstairs. 

 

Mycroft is already in reception making enquiries when they stride, panting a little, into the room. 

 

And he looks up at them, a frown of annoyance on his face, which disappears a little when he sees Lestrade. Then, “Ah Detective Inspector,” he utters and he abandons the receptionist now, who looks very stressed and who tries to call him back, before he walks across to them. 

 

Sally hangs half-a-step back from Lestrade so that she can take in everything about Mycroft Holmes in a more private fashion. She really does take in everything too, from the auburn hair, to the cold blue eyes, the distinguished nose, the frustrated expression that hangs from those thin lips down to the smart way he dresses and the polished shoes. And her eyes finally linger on the umbrella for a moment, before she listens as Mycroft says, “I believe you might know the location of my brother?” and he tries to say such a thing as evenly as possible but he can feel the tension in his face. 

 

“You better come with”- Lestrade begins but-

 

“No, I am short of time and do not wish to be fobbed off by you. So if you could please answer me this Detective Inspector: do you know where Sherlock is?” Mycroft interrupts him and Sally’s brows furrow at the rude and abrupt manner of the man in front of her. 

 

Lestrade swallows a little but he hesitates only a moment, before he says, “In that case we do. He was taken to hospital about quarter of an hour ago. Two members of uniform found him in an alleyway, he was”-

 

But Mycroft spins around and marches back out of the police station, before Lestrade can get his next words out, his heart already pumping erratically in his chest, which is tight with tension and nerves and a sheen of sweat already beginning to form on his forehead. He summons a taxi, vaguely aware of Lestrade and whoever that woman is watching him from the main doors of the station. Then he throws himself into the back of it and if he is pleased about anything then it is the fact that he is on his own, and with his own thoughts, as the taxi hurtles towards Sherlock. 

 

He spends most of the journey getting frustrated with the driver outwardly and getting frustrated with himself inwardly. For he should never have been so light on Sherlock about helping the police, he should have persisted with his attempts to force him into a proper job. One where he wasn't fraternizing with criminals and temptation and God knows what else. One where he might have been miserable but safe. And for one moment he feels mad at you. For it’s your fault with your silly ideas of becoming a writer for making him try and see things more as a whole. Your fault for being the perfect distraction from his brother of late. But then, as he recalls all your warmth and everything that you have given him, he feels even madder with himself. For it is not your fault, he knows, it is only his. It’s his fault for allowing himself to get swept along in the days, for not keeping a better eye on Sherlock, for not asking more probing questions and for letting himself get so caught up in you. And, “Christ, can’t you go any faster?” spills out of his mouth. 

 

But he faces another long wait at the hospital. When he arrives Sherlock is being worked on. By worked on they are quite literally pumping the drugs out of his system and Mycroft thinks he might be sick now. He is told that a Doctor will talk to him shortly and for a moment he is tempted to use his position of power to get things moving more quickly, but in the end he just can’t face it. And even if he had he would have faced a wait, before he would have been able to see Sherlock anyway so it might as well all roll into one. So instead he sits there, in an uncomfortable blue plastic chair with the world’s worst tea in a brown plastic cup from the vending machine clasped in between his hands, whilst he retreats from the sound of everything. From all the patients, doctors, nurses going back and for, from all the chatter and all the medical terms being thrown about, from all the crying and from all the screaming, wailing children, into his mind.

 

*

 

He doesn't care that Sherlock is unconscious when he is finally allowed into a private room to see him. He doesn't care that his brother can’t hear him or that he’s supposedly out of the worst. He just finds himself shouting, “For God’s sake Sherlock! Why did you have to go and do such a stupid thing?!” whilst he strides to the side of the bed, his head arched in anger and spit flying from his mouth. 

 

But the thing about not caring whether or not someone can hear you when you first speak is that quite often by the time you finish you do care. So when of course Sherlock doesn't reply, when of course he just lies there, his face pale but his expression strangely serene and peaceful, his dark hair standing out starkly against the white pillow and sheet Mycroft just runs a frustrated hand through his hair and across his face, before he throws himself into the one chair that is by the bedside. But sitting is the worst thing and he feels quite frankly that by then he has done enough sitting and not enough doing, so after kneading his hand a little with his fingers he stands up, the chair scraping back across the floor as he does so, before he starts to pace frantically back and forth, his eyes darting to his brother occasionally but more often than not fixing on the wall. And as he strides, his anger building and building until his whole body feels like a taut rope one question churns through him until he cannot bear its constant chanting in his head any longer and he has to find its answer. So he swivels, his eyes plunging down the white wall until they fix on Sherlock’s face for a second, before he turns away and walks quickly out of the room. 

 

*

 

Lestrade has just stepped away from the main doors of the police station and is already thinking of the pub and the warm alcohol soothing him after the long, tiring day that he’s had when it happens. When he gets shoved backwards against the police station and his chocolate eyes widen momentarily in surprise, before they come to fix on the tall, auburn haired man who has just let go of his shoulders. And Lestrade cannot help but feel even more tired when he realizes that the man is Mycroft Holmes. 

 

“What case was he on?” Mycroft half-yells at him, his mouth remaining slightly open at the question’s end, his eyes cold and dark, and Lestrade wishes that he wouldn't shout because he can already feel a tension headache burning at the back of his head and creeping its way ever so closer to the front and Mycroft is only making its journey a more successful one. “What case was he on? Tell me!” Mycroft repeats now.

 

“If you calm down then I might,” Lestrade tells him, raising his own voice now, whilst his hands half-raise just in case they're needed to fend off another attack from Mycroft. 

 

“My brother hasn't re-lapsed in almost a year and a half so I will not be told to calm down when”-

 

_“Hey!”_ a sharp voice comes and both men turn their heads to see Sally Donovan springing from the police station doors towards them. Then, “What’s going on here?” she asks as she takes in the sight of Mycroft, looking angry and tense, his hair ruffled, his eyes cold and furious and Lestrade, his hands partly raised in defence, his suit crumpled and his eyes wary. 

 

But, “It’s fine Donovan,” Lestrade tells her. 

 

For a moment Sally doesn't move, her eyes just roam between each of the men, then, “No it isn't,” she says and she can hear Lestrade let out a little breath of annoyance, but she isn't looking at him now, she’s looking at Mycroft. Then, “I know who you are,” she tells him. 

 

And Mycroft, for the first time that night, feels curious, so he turns properly towards her now, his body perfectly straight, before he raises one of his eyebrows as if to dare her to continue. 

 

She dares, “You've been contacting my friend,” and now Mycroft feels a tremor of something run through him, but whatever it is it isn't fear, whilst Sally takes a confident step forward and looks him straight in the eye, “And do you know what? This whole time she’s been so determined to see the best in you. But if she could see what I see now then she’d know what I do, which is that you’re a bully Mr. Holmes and no way near being the person that she wants to believe you are.”

 

Mycroft looks at her for a moment and takes in her dark eyes, which glitter in the dying light of the day. Then he turns away from them both and strides away. 

 

*

 

You've just come back from an evening walk through the park when your land-line rings so you hurry across to pick it up. 

 

“F/N?” and your heart sinks a little when it’s Sally. 

 

So, “Sally,” you say a little tentatively. 

 

“F/N, thank God,” she breathes and you frown a little now and your body tenses up, before, “Has anything happened?” you ask, though you cannot think of anything that would have happened that involves you somehow. 

 

“Yes and please don’t get mad at me F/N, believe me I don’t want to tell you this but”-

 

_“Sally?”_ your voice wavers slightly and your unspoken question is loaded into her name. 

 

“God, oh God, no one’s dead F/N. I'm sorry, Christ I should have said that better but I can’t think straight right now. It’s about Mycroft”-

 

“What is it?” you interrupt her and although you don’t feel worried as such any more you still feel tense and apprehensive. 

 

“I saw him at the station just now and…and he was really aggressive F/N, he was yelling at my boss and my boss said that he even shoved him against the police station, and my boss isn't exactly weak F/N but even he seemed shaken by it.”

 

You aren't sure what to think of this, let alone what to say, because the idea of the funny, pleasant man who has been contacting you pushing someone hard doesn't seem to match up. So in the end, “A-Are you sure it was him?” spills out of your mouth. 

 

Sally takes a little breath and you can almost feel the pain and sorrow it holds for you radiating through it, before, “Yes I'm sure,” she says, “He came in earlier too and I was with my boss at the time and he said it was him.”

 

“Okay,” you breathe, because you still don’t know what to say or think. You just wish that you could rewind time to when you were having a nice pleasant walk in the park, the warmth of the last of the sun’s rays on your face because this is too much and too strange to take in. 

 

“F/N?” Sally asks, her voice full of concern. 

 

“I-I think I just need some, some time to take it all in Sally,” you admit. 

 

“Okay, but call me, yeah F/N? I need to know that you’re okay,” she says and then slowly you put the phone back down in its cradle. 

 

You go around to sit down on the settee in what feels like slow motion, before you sink down on it slowly. And that night there is no reading or television, just you sat there in complete, utter silence with only your thoughts for company. 

 

*

 

Mycroft is at a loss as to what to do when he gets back to Sherlock’s and his flat that night. 

 

When he enters it the first thing that he sees are Sherlock’s chemicals on the table and the sight of them, of seeing something that has become so normal and so unchanged, makes him want to stride over and knock them all over and perhaps throw the table against the wall for good measure. 

 

But he doesn't. For although he can still feel the anger and frustration thrumming through his veins it’s like something else is there now too: _fear_. Fear that Sherlock could, if not for sheer dumb luck, now be dead. Fear that he could now be ringing his parents to tell them that he’d failed. That he hadn't managed to successfully look after the one thing that they’d entrusted him with. And he can see them, see Mummy shaking and crying as she falls apart in Father’s arms, whose eyes seem to fix on Mycroft’s with both something accusing and shameful inside of them. So Mycroft throws his umbrella down and then for a moment he just stands there. Then he turns the place upside down. 

 

*

 

But a couple of hours later it becomes clear to Mycroft that the place is clean. That there are no drugs there and no sign of anything that would have sent warning bells off in his head. For some reason though that just makes him feel even more frustrated because he wants to blame himself. 

 

So he sits on top of Sherlock’s bed and draws his knees close to his chest, before he thinks of his brother’s recent behaviour and words. 

 

But again there is nothing out of the ordinary, for Sherlock anyway, that stands out in Mycroft’s mind and he finds himself shaking his head irritably now. For he feels sure that he must have missed something and that he isn't looking at things deeply enough. So with a little huff of annoyance at himself he swings himself off the bed and goes to fetch a piece of paper and a pen. Then he goes back to sit on the bed, rests the paper on his knees and holds the pen lightly in his hand, ready just in case something should come to him, before he enters his mind once more. 

 

He runs though each room of his mind palace, searching desperately and as thoroughly as he’d physically done with the flat, pulling papers out and searching, searching, searching. He even rushes out to the garden, going past the garden gnomes by the pond with its one goldfish, before he doubles back on himself and goes to peer into the pond. He can see his pale, anxious face reflected in the water and the fish appears to be swimming in circles over his face, so he studies it for a moment, before he wrenches his head back and continues searching. 

 

When he finally comes out of his thought and finds himself back in Sherlock’s bedroom with a bit of a gasp, his eyes catch sight of the two names that he’s written on the paper. 

 

Sherlock, the first reads. Whilst F/N is the other and is underlined. His eyes gaze at them both for a moment, before he scrunches up the paper in a quick notion and tosses it onto the floor. 

 

Then with a kind of throbbing want pulsing through him he darts to his feet, grabs some more paper and throws himself back onto the bed with it. His hand begins to write on it at once. He doesn't know what time he begins or how long the overall process lasts, all he knows is that it seems to come as easily and effortlessly as if he has been carrying something around with him for a long time and never been able to write it down until now. When he finishes and lays the pen down on the bed beside him he reads over what he has written. And then he realizes that it is a poem, both about and for you. Something about it, as his eyes graze over the words that are sweet and new to him rather like the freshness of eating strawberries on a beautiful day, gives him comfort. 

 

And then with his eyes still on the paper his hand reaches to pull his phone out of his pocket automatically. For a moment he wonders whether he should call you. But in the end, worried that the sound of your voice might cause him to break down or provoke some other such silly reaction inside him he decides not to. Instead he texts with slightly clumsy fingers, **Do you like poetry?** And how good it feels to talk about something that doesn't matter in the long scheme of things, to encourage conversation, which doesn't involve medical terms, especially not the words, ‘drug overdose’ and that doesn't hold any anger, just curiosity. 

 

He cannot know how, it being the first time you have heard from him since Sally’s phone call, it throws you once more and makes you give the guarded reply of, _No, I've never really got it._

 

Disappointment fills him as he reads it and then he realizes that of course you probably know about what’s happened, that Sally of course would have told you, and that he can’t even escape anything by talking to you and he feels angry again. So he shoves his phone back into his pocket and carries the paper into his bedroom, before he shoves it into the drawer of his bedside cabinet and closes it with a thud. 

 

*

 

The next day Mycroft goes to the station again. 

 

Sally is standing just outside the main doors and his stomach tightens as he sees her, but his expression and pace remain the same and he hopes that he might be able to go past her but-

 

“I wondered if you’d come back,” she says, her arms folded and her head slightly tilted as she looks at him. 

 

Mycroft makes a small sound of acknowledgement in his throat but he doesn't stop, he just sweeps past her to go inside the station. 

 

But Sally isn't done with him yet and she follows him to the reception desk. 

 

At first Mycroft tries to continue ignoring her by telling the receptionist that he has come to see Lestrade and the receptionist nods, before she bows her head to rummage through some papers. 

 

Then after looking up and tapping something briefly on the computer she says, “I won’t be a moment,” and gets up, before she disappears through a side door. 

 

But it is then that Sally takes the chance to say, “Oh,” pointedly and Mycroft turns his head slowly to coolly observe her gazing at him, one hand on her hip, “I wouldn't expect to hear from F/N again if I were you,” and Mycroft’s lips part slightly now so, “Yeah, that’s right,” she says, “I told her everything about last night, about how you spoke to my boss _and_ about how you pushed him…” and a muscle pulses in Mycroft’s jaw now. 

 

Then he looks down at her as he asks coldly, “Did you also say about the enormous pressure I was under because of what happened to my brother? Or did you leave that part out?” and when Sally doesn't say anything he adds, “Ah, I thought so.”

 

Sally wrenches her mouth open because she hates the slightly smug look that is forming on Mycroft’s face as he looks at her but-

 

“Mr. Holmes,” Lestrade interrupts them as he comes from the back to join them. 

 

Mycroft inclines his head and Lestrade’s eyes shift to Sally. For a moment he just looks at her and then he says evenly, “Don’t you have some paperwork to do Detective Constable Donovan?” 

 

Sally looks at Mycroft once more and her dark eyes meet his cold blue ones one last time, before she takes a step back, wrenches her gaze away to look at Lestrade and says, “Yes Sir,” smartly. Then she moves away from them both. 

 

Lestrade’s eyes follow her for a moment, then he looks at Mycroft and says, “If you follow me I’ll try and answer any questions that you have.”

 

Mycroft nods, but despite his earlier bravado his mind can’t help but fix on Sally’s words as he follows Lestrade, before as they enter a small room he forces it back onto the present matter at hand and of course Sherlock.

 

*

 

He leaves the station an hour later feeling drained and exhausted but knowing that he needs to keep busy he finds himself heading to work anyway. 

 

As he sits in the back of one of his usual black cars on the way there his mind wearily treads through what he has just learnt, which when you break it down involves one petty drugs case, which Sherlock had been asked to help out on and which could have cost him everything because he got tempted. And it is not the details of the case, which shock him, for realistically he’d been expecting as much, but rather it is the dull ordinariness of it all and the fact that Sherlock could have lost his life due to a few low-life members of society and to something far from extraordinary or worthwhile. For it makes him realize just how fragile Sherlock still is and how easily he can be broken. 

 

And the thought makes him call the hospital again for the second time that day but of course Sherlock is still stable and still as fine as he can be so Mycroft goes back to his thoughts once more. 

 

*

 

Work isn't the distraction that he’d hoped it would be though. And after the initial rush of e-mails, calls and most urgent paperwork he finds himself sitting by his desk with still a lot of paperwork to do but none of the urgency and craving a distraction once more. So his mind turns to you. And then as if he knows what the greatest distraction of all would be he stands up, goes to tell Anthea that he is not to be disturbed by anyone for the next hour and then returns to his office where he pulls all the blinds down. Then he sits back down with a small thud and hesitates only for a moment, before he searches for your file on the system. Once he finds it rather than reading it on the computer he clicks to print it all off and his eyes dart to the door as the printer kicks into action, whilst his mouth is ready to snap at anyone who dares to try and disturb him from obtaining this form of release. But no one enters and he collects all of the papers with a little breath into a manila folder, before when silence finally descends once more as the printer ceases its work he sits back down, the folder clutched tentatively in his hands. Then he lays it down on the desk in front of him and absent-mindedly smoothes down the cover, before as the craving for release takes over him completely he opens it forcefully. 

 

He drinks in every bit of information that he knows and every bit of information that he doesn't greedily, taking in your age, height, address, medical details and general description amongst other details, before he reaches the photographs that have been compiled from CCTV footage and his hands snatch at them eagerly to pull them closer to his face so that he can take in every part of you. He sets his eyes upon your hair, your eyes, your lips and the whole of your face for the first time, before they roam down to your body and then back up again so that he can take you all in as a whole. The quality may not be the best but he knows so much more about you now and it is only when he gets to the end of the folder and when there is no more that the rush he felt, whilst looking at it begins to fade and he begins to feel both hollow and sick. And even when he shoves everything back into the folder and pushes it inside his briefcase messily the feeling doesn't fade. It just grows and grows, almost like an exaggerated version of how a child feels if they find out what they are getting for Christmas, before Christmas. And he can’t help but feel, as he closes his eyes and sees every detail of you that he shouldn't know, that he has ruined something precious, which he can never undo. 

 

So when he gets home to the still empty flat late that night, with the chemicals still in the exact same place they were in that morning, he shoves you in the same drawer that contains the poem and tries to forget what he has done. But he cannot make you a foreign identity once more. He cannot see a blank canvas where there is now h/c hair, e/c eyes or indeed no lines when there are now so many that all connect and join to make up every inch of you. 

 

*

 

Mycroft’s in a warehouse and there is little light but he knows and feels several things intensely. First he knows that the whole of his body feels taught and tight with tension and that he is sweating because he can feel the slickness of it on his forehead, collarbone and underneath his arms. And he knows that the white shirt he is wearing is uncomfortable and itchy and that he cannot shrug it into a better position because he is being held back by a man, whose body is pressed against his and whose heart Mycroft can feel pounding somewhere on his back. He knows that his throat is dry, and that quite probably he has been shouting for some time but other than knowing it was recently he cannot pin down the exact time that it was. And he wonders if he is delirious now. But then he feels scared and his heart seems to roar in his ears, before it stabs him repeatedly in the chest because Sherlock is being dragged out in front of him now by two men, both of whom are wearing masks. And Mycroft struggles now because he needs to get to his brother, who is crouched on the floor, his face pale, hair matted and his clothes crumpled. But the man who is holding him pulls him back with a sharp tug and a gasp leaves Mycroft’s lips and his vision swims in front of him for a moment, before it rights itself. Then one of the men crouched on the floor by Sherlock takes out a needle and Mycroft’s vision nearly gives out again as he sees the drugs inside it, before, “No, please, don’t, no, do it to me instead, please do it to me,” he begs them through cracked lips but they don’t listen, they don’t pay him any attention at all, not even when Mycroft cries, the tears sliding down his long nose, as he begs them once more. So he struggles again and that at least causes the man with the needle to stop and look up at him. “Please,” Mycroft tries again, before his heart skips a beat when the man lays the needle on the floor. But the ordeal isn't over and there is only a brief hesitation, before Mycroft’s heart thuds in his chest as the man reaches up to pull the mask off his face. And that’s when Mycroft realizes it isn't a man at all for-

 

“F/N?” he says in a strangled voice. 

 

And you smirk slightly as your e/c eyes meet his. Then you swipe the needle off the floor, grab Sherlock’s arm with a clumsy precision, tug his sleeve up and plunge the needle to the skin. 

 

Mycroft’s vision plunges into darkness at the sight and he tries to take an unsteady step forwards in the hope of righting everything, before with a rattling gasp he wakes to find himself sitting upright in bed, the covers down by his hips and his heart hammering inside his chest. Then he begins to sob. 

 

Somewhere not too far away you sleep on obliviously.


	5. Rest Inside My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or the one where there's fireworks and not just in the sky either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, thanks so much to you all for your amazing support! I'm really happy that so many of you are enjoying this little fic! :D 
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this chapter! Please let me know what you think! :D

The first thing that Sherlock says when Mycroft walks into the private room during visiting hours is, “Thank you for not telling Mummy.”

 

Mycroft hesitates a moment at that, before he inclines his head and closes the door behind him. Then, “I did it as much for me as for you,” he says as he approaches the bed, before he sits down on the plastic chair. 

 

“I know,” Sherlock murmurs but he doesn't look disappointed by this knowledge. 

 

For a moment Mycroft doesn't look at him, he just stares at his knees, which his hands clasp onto as he leans slightly forwards. Then he looks up at Sherlock quickly, before he looks back down, then, “I could have lost you,” he breathes. 

 

Sherlock’s body tenses up a little, before he says as jokingly as he can, “Well I don’t exactly help much with paying the rent so it wouldn't exactly be”-

 

“This isn't a joke Sherlock!” Mycroft snaps and his head jerks upwards now so that he can stare into his brother’s eyes. “You could have died! Do you know how close I came to phoning Mummy to tell her that you were dead?” he asks, before he gestures a minuscule gap with his fingers and huffs, “ _This_ close!” 

 

Sherlock looks at him for a moment, his expression a calculating one. Then, “But I didn't and you didn't have to”-

 

“Whether I had to tell Mummy or not, the fact is Sherlock, this wasn't one of your experiments that didn't go right, we can’t just open the window and make everything fine again. You need to get clean once and for all and you need a proper job”-

 

“Not this again, I thought”-

 

“But now things have _changed_ Sherlock,” Mycroft tries to impress upon him, before he adds, “You obviously can’t cope with everything that this one offered you so”-

 

“Oh, look, I think visiting hours have come to an end. Shame you didn't come sooner today Mycroft or we could have talked some more, now off you pop,” Sherlock interrupts his brother sardonically, before he makes a shooing gesture with his hands. 

 

Mycroft frowns at him, before, “They’re not and I'm not leaving until”-

 

“Until what Mycroft? Until you get me to promise that I’ll be a good little boy and never take drugs again?” Sherlock snaps. 

 

Mycroft stands up now, then, “I can see that it’s no use talking to you today so perhaps I’d better be off after all,” he says. And when Sherlock doesn't reply Mycroft moves towards the door but-

 

“Oh and call her again would you?” Sherlock says in a rather fed up voice as if he is quite tired of all the little games that you and his brother have been playing. 

 

Mycroft turns back to him now and raises one of his eyebrows questioningly, before he asks, “Call who?” 

 

“Oh don’t be so obtuse Mycroft, you know exactly who. What have you fallen out over this time?” and Mycroft hesitates so Sherlock adds, “I can tell by how tense you are, not to mention how grumpy.”

 

Mycroft sighs a little and then he walks back to the chair by Sherlock’s bedside and sits back down. Then, “I'm afraid a report of me losing my temper has made its way back to her. She has been guarded with me ever since and I think she has now taken to avoiding me altogether,” he says. 

 

“Losing your temper?” Sherlock ponders thoughtfully, then, “With who?” he asks. 

 

And Mycroft sighs a little again, before, with his eyes averted, he confesses, “Lestrade,” quietly. 

 

Sherlock wrenches his mouth open now, before, “What did you say to him?” he growls. 

 

Mycroft shifts a little now, before he meets his brother’s eyes once more and tries to defend himself by saying, “I was worried about the nature of the case you’d been on, and I was quite rightly angry that”-

 

“Oh God, great, now he’s never going to want my help again. So it turns out that I might as well get a boring job like you Mycroft because that’s all you've left open for me!” Sherlock snaps. 

 

So, “I'm sorry,” Mycroft says, before, “It wasn't something I could contain”-

 

“Stop!” Sherlock interrupts and he holds up a hand now, before, “I don’t want to hear any more. Just get out of here and call her would you?” 

 

A small smile toys around Mycroft’s lips, in spite of himself now, at Sherlock’s appalled expression, before he inclines his head and leaves. 

 

Still he doesn't call you. 

 

*

 

Sherlock is released the next day and Mycroft and he are sat beside each other in the back of a taxi on the way home when Sherlock observes, “You still haven’t called her.”

 

Mycroft fidgets with his hands for a moment, before he replies, “I don’t know where to start,” somewhat touchily as Sherlock looks at him. 

 

Sherlock huffs a little now and runs a frustrated hand through his hair, making it even messier, before he breathes, “Do you even realize how lucky you are?”

 

And it isn't like Sherlock had snapped the words out but Mycroft can’t help but fully focus his gaze on him now, whilst his breath hitches uncomfortably in his chest. Then, “You can’t surely be jealous brother dear?” Mycroft asks with a light cautiousness. 

 

“You never needed anyone,” Sherlock gets out, his hands fisted in his lap, “But you got someone anyway. Someone who’s willing to talk to you, to put up with you, to _listen_ , and you’re telling me that you’re _seriously_ willing to throw all that away just because you don’t know where to start?” 

 

Mycroft looks down as his hands fidget together for a moment. Then, “It’s not as simple as that,” he tells his brother. 

 

But, “Why?” Sherlock asks, not understanding, “Why isn't it? Why can’t you just force yourself to pick up the phone and perhaps suffer through one difficult conversation if it means that by the end of it everything will be sorted out and you’ll be happy again?”

 

“Are you sure that this isn't about you wanting someone Sherlock?” Mycroft asks now, deflecting attention away from himself as Sherlock’s words circle through his mind and make him feel uncomfortable. For even though it’s true that he feels happy when he talks to you, it is the fact that he knows that he partly relies on you for such a thing, which makes him feel uneasy. 

 

“No,” Sherlock huffs out a little moodily now, before he turns towards Mycroft even more as he asks, “Do you know what this is about?” and Mycroft stares at him now, “This is about you not always being the smart one Mycroft.”

 

Mycroft looks away and doesn't reply. 

 

*

 

When they arrive home Sherlock makes a beeline for the chemicals, before he complains, “Well this experiment was a complete waste of time. I’ll have to re-start it now,” and then he turns to go towards his bedroom, before he calls over his shoulder, “I hope you haven’t made a mess in here.”

 

Mycroft makes a sound of something between amusement and irritation in his throat and then he drifts towards the window to look out at the dull sky and even duller buildings. 

 

And he's still there when Sherlock leaves his bedroom ten minutes later, now wearing an old grey t-shirt and pyjama bottoms underneath a tatty blue dressing gown. 

 

Sherlock stops when he sees him and then, “Call her,” he urges. 

 

“Okay,” Mycroft relents in a small breath, before he watches as after a small nod of satisfaction Sherlock takes his place at the table and then he goes to his bedroom, getting out his phone as he goes. 

 

He shuts his bedroom door behind him and then, whilst he partly leans against the door he dials your number and lifts the phone to his ear. 

 

He thinks for a moment as it continues to ring and ring that it might go to the answer phone machine and he’s just trying to decide whether or not to leave a message if it does when-

 

“Hello?” a tentative voice comes, _your_ voice, and he releases a little breath. 

 

Then, “I think I owe you an explanation,” he says. 

 

And, “I think you do,” you agree and he hates how guarded and cold your voice is. For he wants it to be as playful and relaxed as he has become accustomed to it being. 

 

So, “All right,” he begins, before he ponders for a moment, then, “I take it you've heard some things from Sally?” he asks. 

 

And there is a small hesitation now, before, “Yes, but I want your version,” you say and once again your voice is firm. 

 

“Of course,” Mycroft says, before he takes a little breath of courage and then, “The first time I went to the police station that day I was looking for my brother. He hadn't come home and whilst that isn't exactly unusual, I had an uneasiness. So I went to the station to see if I could find him. There I saw Lestrade and Sally, though I didn't know it was her at the time, and it was then that I learnt”- and he breaks off now because everything about that day is still so raw and even for him, even for the man who tries to keep a little distance from it all, the memory is painful. 

 

“Mycroft?” he hears you ask uncertainly. 

 

And his name on your lips encourages him enough to continue, “I learnt that my brother was in the hospital,” Mycroft begins, before he swallows and then adds, “He’s home now,” as if to remind himself that Sherlock is not pale and motionless in a hospital bed any more, before, “But at that point he’d…well, he’d overdosed on drugs, I don’t know how else to put it and…well when I arrived they were pumping it all out of his system and…it was awful F/N.”

 

“I'm-I'm”-

 

“I'm not proud of what I did next,” Mycroft interrupts you, almost as if you had not spoken at all and he knows he has to do it this way because if he stops, if he thinks about it all for too long, then he will be in no fit state to continue. “But I was angry and if I must admit to being it then scared too. So I found myself back at the police station and whatever Sally’s told you about this part is probably close to being accurate, if not accurate. I did yell at Lestrade and I did push him.”

 

A silence follows these words and for a long time you just listen to each other’s tentative breathing. 

 

Then, “I wish you’d told me this sooner,” you murmur. 

 

Mycroft bites down on his lip a little now. Then, “I was worried about what you’d think of me,” he admits, before, “I still am to tell you the truth.” 

 

And there’s another silence so, “F/N?” he asks finally. 

 

“I'm sorry, it’s just…” you begin, struggling a little, before, “I'm trying not to be stupid here,” you admit with a small and humourless laugh. 

 

So he doesn't reply. Instead he waits patiently until, “I just…it’s like I've got two versions of you in my head now and I don’t know, it’s like I don’t know how they can be the same person,” and he can almost see you running a frustrated hand through your hair now. 

 

“I've disappointed you,” Mycroft interprets and his heart feels heavy in his chest as he does so. 

 

There’s a hesitation, then, “Yes, I suppose you have,” you admit and it sounds to him like it is something that is very hard for you to confess. 

 

So, “How can I make it up to you?” he asks. 

 

And again there’s a hesitation as you think it all through, then, “By proving that you’re more like the person who’s been texting and calling me than the person who gets angry and pushes people,” you say. 

 

“For me to do that you’ll have to give me another chance F/N,” Mycroft informs you tentatively. 

 

“I know,” you tell him, before you add, “And Sally’s going to think I'm such a idiot and even I'm not sure if I'm not one right now so”-

 

“I won’t let you down F/N. You can trust me,” Mycroft urges. 

 

And, “I hope so,” you breathe. 

 

*

 

“You can’t help us out like this Sherlock, but if you get yourself clean, properly clean I mean now, and agree to some checks every couple of weeks or so just to start off with, until you've proven yourself like, then I can’t see why you wouldn't be able to help us in the future,” Lestrade says. For despite Sherlock’s fears about Mycroft scaring Lestrade off, Lestrade has come around that following Sunday evening and now he stares at Sherlock with his arms folded as Sherlock sits by the table, his eyes focusing on the chemicals, whilst Mycroft stands a little off to the side, his arms folded as he surveys the scene. 

 

For a moment Sherlock doesn't reply and Mycroft watches as various emotions cloud over Sherlock’s eyes as he thinks about it all. Then finally Sherlock looks up and asks, “Can I start at once?”

 

Lestrade gives a little chuckle now and a little shake of his head. Then, “No, take the…what, hm, the…shall we say the rest of summer off? Get yourself sorted. Then call me and we’ll see what we can do, okay?”

 

Sherlock doesn't look happy at the prospect of a long summer of being largely flat-bound in between all the psychiatric one on one sessions and therapy group work that no doubt Mycroft will set him up with. And in one last plea to not make his life hell his eyes go to Mycroft, but of course, no matter how pleadingly Sherlock looks at him Mycroft won’t budge on this. So, left with no choice, Sherlock says, “Fine,” grudgingly as he looks back at Lestrade. 

 

Lestrade nods and smiles encouragingly at him and then he rocks back and forth a little on his heels, before he taps the top of his legs with his hands and says, “Right, well, I better be off then”-

 

“Actually if I could I was hoping to have a quick word with you, before you leave Detective Inspector?” Mycroft speaks now and Sherlock’s face immediately darkens. 

 

“Yeah, sure,” Lestrade says, whilst he runs a quick hand through his hair and turns to look at Mycroft expectantly. 

 

Mycroft however looks pointedly at Sherlock. 

 

Sherlock does a kind of double take, then, “Oh? So you want me to leave now just so you can talk about me freely when I'm not here, do you?”

 

Mycroft rolls his eyes and acquires a long-suffering kind of look. 

 

So Sherlock huffs and stands up forcefully and the chair makes a screeching noise that he knows Mycroft hates as he does so, before he strides stroppily off into his bedroom, already plotting ways of making Mycroft’s summer as hellish as his own promises to be. 

 

“I'm sorry you had to see that,” Mycroft says quietly as he turns back to Lestrade, then, “As kind as your offer is of allowing my brother to go back to helping your force once more, I'm not sure that in the long scheme of things it is the best thing for him,” he says, whilst he looks into Lestrade’s eyes. 

 

Lestrade looks a little surprised now but Mycroft continues, “My brother is ill Detective Inspector,” and “ _Oh_ ,” he adds as Lestrade’s eyes widen slightly, “He doesn't have a disease and there is no virus worming its way through his head but he has his _obsessions_ and his _longings_ and his _cravings_ ,” and his mouth lingers over the words ‘obsessions,’ ‘longings,’ and ‘cravings,’ as if he cannot properly swallow them. Then, “So you see,” he begins airily, “I'm afraid that if another case like this were to occur and if, once more, my brother was in a particular… _mood_. He might allow the same thing to happen again.” 

 

For a moment Lestrade doesn't know how to reply. Then, “Well that’s why I'm giving him this chance. And that’s why he needs a break to get everything sorted so that he can prove you wrong. And…” he trails off now, before he decides, as Mycroft raises an eyebrow, to continue, “He’s damn good at helping us. He can see and pick up on things long before any of us can. He’s very skilled at what he does and it would be a shame to not let him at least have one more chance, don’t you think?” 

 

Mycroft thinks about it all for a moment. He thinks about how Sherlock seems to come to life when he’s working on a case. He thinks about how gloomy and frustrated he’s been looking over the last few days over the prospect of it all being gone forever. And then he thinks about how you had given him a second chance. Then he concludes that Sherlock needs this just as much as he needed the second chance from you. So he nods but, “This time I want to keep a better handle on everything if you don’t mind. So when Sherlock goes back to helping you I’ll need you to keep me informed of all the cases that he’s working on by scheduling regular meetings. That way I’ll be able to monitor him better.”

 

“Fine,” Lestrade nods and then, “Right, well, if that’s it then I better be off,” and after Mycroft inclines his head he leaves. 

 

*

 

“Sherlock’s going to help them again in September if he keeps himself out of trouble,” Mycroft tells you that night. 

 

“And how do you feel about that?” you ask, for although you can guess what the answer is you want Mycroft to tell you himself. 

 

And there’s a slight hesitation now, before, “A little uneasy,” Mycroft admits, whilst he lets out a small breath. 

 

“But Sherlock needs this doesn't he? Doing this makes him happy, doesn't it? And if they’re giving him this chance then it sounds like they’ll look after him the best they can. And at least the thought of having this will give him something to focus on and a reason to get better. ” 

 

He lets your words wash over him, lets himself feel as reassured as he can by them and their truth and lets himself feel calm about the matter for now. Then, “Have you spoken to Sally?” he asks. 

 

“Yesterday,” you say firmly, before, “I called her myself and I explained that despite what happened I would still be talking to you. After all we all get angry don’t we?”

 

“Some of us over the simple task of walking on a pavement,” Mycroft teases you. 

 

And, _“Hey!”_ you say in mock outrage, but a little, fluttery laugh escapes your lips too and it seems to take the form of a butterfly, which swoops all the way to him, before it takes a rest inside his heart. 

 

So, “How did she take it?” he asks. 

 

“Well, she wasn't exactly the happiest I've ever heard her. But I can’t exactly help that,” you conclude, shifting your position on the settee and crossing one leg over the other, whilst you push your hair back a little with your free hand. 

 

Then, “What about Kurt?” Mycroft can’t help but ask now, “Have you told him about”-

 

“No,” you interrupt him, before, “It wouldn't help anything to tell him and anyway I'm going around there next weekend. They’re hoping to have a barbecue in the garden. So I don’t want to do anything to make that any more awkward than it needs to be.”

 

And Mycroft hesitates only a moment, before, “Thank you,” he murmurs. 

 

“You’re welcome,” you tell him, before you add, “Besides, you couldn't exactly make it up to me if my brother kills you now could you?”

 

“Ah, yes, how am I doing?” Mycroft enquires. 

 

“Oh, not bad,” you begin, before you take a moment to pretend to consider everything now, then, “You’re heading in the right direction at least.”

 

Mycroft’s lip twitches now, before, “Good,” he replies, and something about the way he says it makes your heart skip a beat. 

 

*

 

Kurt gives you the biggest hug when he opens the door to see you standing there that Saturday and you immediately feel bad about not making more of an effort with him. He gives the best hugs and they make you feel as if every inch of you is being comforted and protected. 

 

Then when he finally pulls away he says, “It’s really good to see you F/N,” with a beaming smile upon his face and your heart lifts a little.

 

“You too,” you get out and then he puts a brief hand on your shoulder, before he turns and you follow him right through the house, to the patio doors and into the garden. 

 

The first thing your eyes catch sight of is the small, white swinging chair that you’d sat on all those weeks ago when Mycroft and you barely knew each other and you smile a little at the memory. 

 

Then, “F/N!” Matilda squeals and she darts up from where she’s been playing on the grass with Penny to come across and give you a hug. 

 

“Hi,” you say a little awkwardly and your body only begins to relax a little again when she lets go of you and her red painted nails are no longer on your bare arms. 

 

“You’re looking great sweetie,” she says as she stands back a little to admire your blue and white floral dress. 

 

And, “Oh, thanks,” you say, before for good measure you do a little twirl, which causes Matilda to laugh in delight, Penny to clap her hands excitedly and Kurt to smile from where he’s starting to get the barbecue going. 

 

“So,” and now Matilda places a hand on your upper arm, “Why don’t we go over and see Penny? We need to make the most of this chance and have some girl talk, whilst Mr. Chef over there,” and now she breaks off to nod at Kurt, who is already struggling with the barbecue, “Figures things out.”

 

“Um, okay,” you say and she smiles at you, before she goes across close to where Kurt is, picks up a bottle of wine that’s been placed on the ground and pours two large glasses of red wine. 

 

Then, “None for you sweetie, we can’t have a drunk chef,” she tells Kurt, before she taps him on the nose, which he wrinkles and she laughs. Then she kisses him on the cheek, before she says, “We’re just going to sit by Penny,” and after Kurt nods she returns to you, hands you your glass and leads the way. 

 

The two of you sit down on the short grass around Penny, who twists her head to look at you in astonishment as if she’s wondering how you came to be so suddenly close to her.

 

Then with your legs to the side of you, you take a sip of the wine and relish how fresh and wonderful it tastes on this, a glorious day of summer, where the sun’s rays seem to be bursting all over the sky and where there is not even a single cloud in the sky. 

 

You’re not the only family enjoying it either, for you can hear the sounds of next-door’s sprinkler behind the wooden fence and the cries of children along with the low hum of adults talking. 

 

“So F/N you must update me on Mycroft and you,” Matilda says, before her lips lower to the rim of the wine glass, whilst her eyes peer up at you. 

 

“Oh, well, I mean it’s the same as ever really,” you tell her, feeling a little embarrassed and uncertain of what to say but even so a small smile can’t help but tug at your lips at the mention of Mycroft’s name. 

 

“Yes, but for those of us who don’t really know what the ‘same as ever’ actually means…” she persists with a teasing kind of gentleness. 

 

And a blush creeps onto your face now, before, “Oh, well, y’know, we just talk about whatever’s going on in our lives. I told him I was coming here today actually, and, well, his brother’s been going through a rough time recently so he’s been talking about that a lot.”

 

“Does he make you laugh?” she asks.

 

You smile now, then, “Yes, he does,” you tell her as you look at her. 

 

She smiles then, “And have you ever thought about meeting up?” she asks, before she adds quickly, “I’d be more than happy to come with you if you wanted me to.”

 

“Oh, um, thanks but no, I mean I think we’re both pretty busy people so…” you trail off because although that’s kind of true the bigger reason is because you don’t know whether or not Mycroft would want to. After all when you’d sent those texts to him before about wondering whether you’d ever seen each other he hadn't exactly replied to that line of conversation. So perhaps he just feels more comfortable keeping things this way for now. And also it’s not like you've been speaking to each other for that long since the whole Sherlock debacle, so, quite honestly, part of you feels more comfortable in keeping a little distance from him right now too so, “It’s just nice to talk to each other y’know?” you add, before you drink a little more wine now. 

 

“Of course,” she says as a smile toys on her lips, before she leans back a little and looks into the sky as she muses, “I wonder what he looks like.”

 

“Um,” you begin clumsily and her eyes swivel back down to you now. 

 

Then, “Oh come on F/N, you've been talking to him for over three months now, that’s a quarter-of-a-year, you must have thought about it.”

 

So, “A little,” you admit. 

 

“Go on then,” she urges you with a little laugh. 

 

And you smile a little, before, “Well, I mean, I don’t want to jinx it,” you say, “But I kind of picture him with really warm intense eyes y’know because he’s got”- and you break off now, a blush on your face. 

 

“Yes?”

 

“Um, well he’s got a very nice voice and”-

 

Matilda bursts out laughing now at your general, smiling awkwardness and Kurt, who's just coming over to tell you that the food should be ready in a minute and who heard the last part of your sentence asks, “Who’s got a nice voice?” 

 

And whilst you duck your head to hide your blush Matilda grabs Kurt’s wrist with her hand and says, “You darling.”

 

Kurt just gives you both a bemused look, before he asks, “How much wine did you two drink?”

 

Then, “Not nearly enough,” Matilda answers him, before she stands up and brushes herself down with her free hand, then, “Lunch?” she asks you.

 

“Lunch,” you agree, before you stand up and do the same. 

 

Then, “So,” Kurt begins with something mischievous in his eyes once you straighten up, “Mycroft’s got a nice voice huh?”

 

And, _“Kuuurrt!”_ you protest. 

 

“Oh baby sister, how easy it is to tease you,” Kurt grins as he flings an arm around your shoulders and Matilda laughs as she leads the way. 

 

But then once there is a bit of a distance between Matilda and Kurt and you, Kurt asks, “But everything’s going all right between Mycroft and you?”

 

“Yes,” you reply, drawing it out a little just to demonstrate that you’re a little annoyed about him asking for the thousandth time, “And no he doesn't know where I live or what I look like,” you confirm. 

 

“Good,” Kurt says and he squeezes your shoulders a little now, before he lets go of you to go and serve the food. 

 

*

 

“…No, it was really good,” you conclude as you finish telling Mycroft about the barbecue that night, your legs stretched across the settee and the television on low in front of you. 

 

“I'm glad,” Mycroft replies and there is a slight pause now, before, “What did you wear?” he asks, and when you don’t say anything and there is only tumble-weed on the line he tries to explain, “I'm just curious as to what one wears to a barbecue having never gone to one myself.”

 

 _“Oh,”_ you say and you feel a little surprised by this line of questioning, but, “Well it wasn't anything fancy really, just an old blue and white summer dress.”

 

“The print?” he enquires as lightly as he can, whilst he makes a new photograph of you in his mind. 

 

“Floral,” you reply and then you hesitate a moment, before you ask, “Is everything all right?”

 

 _“Hmm?”_

 

“It’s just you've never really asked about my clothes, before,” you explain a little awkwardly. 

 

“Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to alarm you,” Mycroft begins, coming out of his thought somewhat now, before he explains as lightly as he can, “I think I was just trying to imagine you in the sunlight today, that’s all,” which, whilst partly true doesn't make the request sound nearly as selfish as it really was.

 

“Oh,” you reply slowly, because how can you really respond to that? Then you add a little tentatively, “You can’t really do that properly though without knowing what I look like.”

 

And for a moment at this suggestion you both just listen to each other’s apprehensive breaths, whilst Mycroft shifts a little guiltily because of course he already knows what you look like, but you can’t see him so, “I could tell you, you know, if you wanted to know a little about what I look like,” you say.

 

And Mycroft’s heart does a little flip in his chest at your words, before, _“Okay,”_ he breathes. 

 

“I have h/c hair,” you begin and Mycroft closes his eyes now, “And e/c eyes and I'm tall/short/average height and I guess I'm”-

 

“Please don’t say you’re nothing special,” Mycroft tells you with a bit of a growl as his eyes flick open now, and then he hears your breath shift a little, before he continues, “You sound beautiful.” And then his mind roams to the photos he saw of you and he adds, “You _are_ beautiful,” in barely more than a whisper and when the words brush against your ear they make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. 

 

 _“I…”_ you breathe, before you pull yourself together enough to ask, “So can I hear something about what you look like?”

 

Mycroft lets out a little bit of a breath, then, “I fear you would be disappointed,” he tells you.

 

 _“Oh,”_ you breathe, and he can tell just by the way you said that one word that you’ll be even more disappointed if he doesn't share anything at all.

 

So, “One of my better features is that I'm quite tall,” he says. 

 

“Your eyes?” you persist with a gentle breath, because now you know one detail you crave more. 

 

“Blue,” he replies after a small hesitation. 

 

“And your hair?” you ask, whilst your mind begins to draw an image of him. 

 

“Ah,” Mycroft begins, before he confesses, “It is that, which I think you’d be most disappointed by”-

 

“Not unless you’re bald,” you say, before you realize what you've just said and hurriedly add, “Christ you’re not bald are you? Because if you are then I didn't mean”-

 

“No,” Mycroft interrupts you, smiling now, “Although it is thinning rather more quickly than I’d like.”

 

So, “Your hair?” you ask, getting back on track. 

 

_“I”-_

 

“Please don’t say you’re nothing special,” you interrupt him and he smiles even more at that. 

 

Then, “Auburn,” he breathes. 

 

And your breath hitches a little in your chest now as in your mind’s eye you see more of a completed picture. Then, “That could never have disappointed me,” you tell him, and it’s true because what he’s told you feels so much more right and so much more _him_ than whatever random images you’d conjured in your head previously. 

 

“Good,” Mycroft breathes, feeling slightly more reassured.

 

So, "Freckles?” you ask in a teasing voice a moment later and Mycroft’s smile just grows and grows. 

 

Then, “Yes, but I'm not telling you where those are,” he replies mischievously and you laugh. 

 

*

 

That night you dream of him. He’s walking across the grass at Kurt’s house to you. His feet are bare and he’s wearing these weird almost cream-coloured trousers that are rolled up slightly, whilst the top two buttons of his white shirt are undone. There’s a smile on his face as he looks at you. And as he gets closer to you he extends a hand and you take it, feeling light with your bare feet and short, white dress. He spins you around the garden and you laugh. And when you wake up that morning you smile. 

 

*

 

_Does it ever annoy you when you see Christmas stuff out next to the Back to School stuff? I mean it’s August for crying out loud…_

 

**Another one of your pet hates?**

 

 _Yes, God I just realized that I should probably tell you more of my pet-loves or something, before you run away screaming because of my misery._

 

**I don’t think that ‘pet-loves’ is actually a real term. But do go on. What do you love F/N?**

 

 _I don’t think it is either but I won’t tell anyone if you don’t._

 

**Agreed. So?**

 

 _So, right, well obviously my family. I think it’s best to get the obvious ones out of the way first don’t you? And hearing from you of course. And the little unexpected things that just make you smile when you see them. Or really good food. Or when something reminds you of something nice._

 

**Or when the sky’s smiling?**

 

_Yes, when the sky’s smiling! Exactly!_

 

*

 

“I was hoping that the closer we got to September the happier my brother would become. He’s been a pain all summer. But in actual fact the reverse just seems to be true and he’s becoming more irritable than ever,” Mycroft tells you wearily one night. 

 

But after chewing on your lip for a moment you say, “Go easy on him,” before, “He’s probably just nervous about the police rejecting his help still,” you reason.

 

“Go easy on him?” Mycroft exclaims in an exasperated fashion, before he adds, “F/N if you’d had to put up with what I have then you would not be telling me to go easy on him!”

 

“Well I practically have, haven’t I?” you tell him now, before you add, “I mean between your texts and calls I've probably heard about everything your brother’s got up to this summer.” Then, “Let’s see,” you say, before you go across and rummage through the papers on the coffee table, “I know I made a list somewhere,” you add, before you bite down a little on your tongue as you search, then, “Ah, here it is, it’s called a list of things that annoy Mycroft”- you announce as you pull out a sheet of paper that’s been thoroughly scribbled on.

 

And, “Very funny,” Mycroft interjects. 

 

“Yep, it’s a long one,” you begin, as you see that you've made notes on the back of the paper too, then, “On _August 1st_ you told me: _‘I woke up to loud noises coming from Sherlock’s room at quarter-past three. Hoping they’d go away soon I stayed in bed. But half-an-hour later they were still occurring. So I got up and went to see what the hell was going on. It turns out Sherlock had lost something and was trying to find it. When I asked him why it couldn't wait until morning he just shouted some gibberish at me. I'm sure there were some swearwords in there somewhere though. So I trudged back to bed wearily. Needless to say I did not get much sleep. And when I came home from work that night Sherlock was still searching for his misplaced item. Indeed the first thing he did was to blame me for having taken it. I said that I had no desire to take anything from his sty of a bedroom and he pulled a face at me. August 5th: Sherlock was restless and irritable the whole day. When I told him to get outside he just huffed at me and rolled around on the settee. He wouldn't even let me sit down on it to eat so I had to eat my dinner, whilst standing up. August 13th: Yesterday was a good day for Sherlock so I was rather hoping that it would continue. Apparently he’d found the missing object and could continue the experiment with it. But today everything went back to normal and when I was trying to relax by reading he ‘accidentally’ spilt some chemicals over my book. He knows not to go near my briefcase at least. I have taught him that much. August 15th: Woke up to Sherlock ranting and raving to himself. Got up to see him pacing back and forth in the kitchen. Every now and then he would fling himself down and fiddle with the chemicals on the table. It was rather like watching a tiger at the zoo. I ended up feeling oddly sorry for him. That was until he pulled out a shirt of mine and started to try and dye it with the chemicals. I tried to stop him but the shirt was the colour of mould, before I managed to wrestle it away from him. I knew I needed a plan of action to entertain him, so that morning I went to seek out a violin. He used to play one as a child and at a loss I thought it might be the perfect thing to bring back into his life. August 16th: Sherlock screeching on the violin all night. I suppose it is my fault really. August 20th: Sherlock playing a rather nice tune on the violin as I ate my breakfast. I think he rather knows that he’s put me through the mill of it of late and was trying to make up for it. August 21st: Spoke too soon. Sherlock is most definitely in a bad mood today.’_ Which takes us right up to now so yep, basically I've been there just as much as you have,” you conclude triumphantly. 

 

Mycroft just makes an amused sound in his throat and you smirk, before you can’t help but ask, “Did you like how I put them in diary format?”

 

“I did,” Mycroft replies, before, “I think you should make a novel out of them,” he says.

 

“Entitled, _‘The Shenanigans and Misadventures of the Holmes Brothers?’_ ” you tease and he laughs. 

 

*

 

“Sherlock’s basically been up for the past forty-eight hours. If I didn't have a job I think he would have made me suicidal,” Mycroft groans. 

 

“Still, on the bright side, it’s nearly September and hopefully Sherlock will have a job soon too,” you tell him reasonably. 

 

But, “Even so would you mind if we were to pray together?” he asks.

 

And you’re not quite sure how to respond to that so, “Um,” is all that you get out. 

 

“Not that I'm religious,” Mycroft confesses leisurely, before he tells you, “It’s more the fact that where Sherlock’s concerned I could use any help I can get right now.” 

 

You pause for a moment, then, “Hmm. I'm trying to imagine how a prayer from you to God about Sherlock would go,” you tell him, before you decide on, “Something like: _‘Dear God, pretty please with a cherry on top could you make sure that Sherlock, my annoying brother whose been a great pain to me all summer, gets to help the police and make sure that all the bad guys are locked up forever and ever? I mean really God, it’s in your best interests too isn't it that criminals are rounded up as quickly as possible? So if you could do that for me then that would be most splendid. Lots of love, though in all honesty we probably won’t speak to each other that soon again, Mycroft,’_ maybe,” you finish, before, “How did I do?” you ask him.

 

“Well, I'm not sure that I’d say pretty please with a cherry on top,” Mycroft confesses. 

 

But, “Hey, if that’s your only complaint then I think I did much better than I thought,” you say, feeling pleased with his response. 

 

“Most amusing F/N.”

 

*

 

“I bring good news. Sherlock’s been allowed to help the police again,” Mycroft informs you on September 1st. 

 

And you cheer down the phone and make as much whooping and hollering noises as you can. 

 

Then, “Indeed,” Mycroft begins and he feels very amused by your reaction, “Though its been a very long day,” he confesses, before he explains in more detail, “Sherlock wanted to ring Lestrade at five o’ clock this morning. I managed to hold him off until nine. Then Lestrade wanted him to go down the station so I went with him. Sherlock, obviously, was very keen for me to leave as soon as possible. So I only stayed as long as I had to.” 

 

“So has Sherlock been helping them on a case today?” you ask. 

 

“In a manner of speaking,” Mycroft replies, before, “Lestrade suggested that to get him back into the swing of things Sherlock should go through some old cold cases,” and he pauses now, before, “Although I don’t think that will last long,” he informs you as, “Sherlock’s desperate to get back properly out into the field, as it were. And I think he’s already making Lestrade tear his hair out.” 

 

And a smile toys around your lips now, before, “You don’t sound too concerned about that,” you tell him. 

 

“Well it does save some of mine,” he replies in an amused tone. 

 

*

 

_Oh gosh, I think I've forgotten what proper autumn rain feels like._

 

**Don’t you have an umbrella on hand F/N?**

 

 _No, I lost my old one somewhere and although I keep meaning to get it replaced I haven’t as yet._

 

**Then you must mark it down as a priority. I cannot have you falling ill F/N.**

 

_Well there is a chance that I will. Have you seen all those vitamins and pills they keep advertising on TV? They wouldn't be flogging them so much if it wasn't cold and flu season now would they?_

 

 _Sorry I just realized how abrupt that probably just sounded._

 

 **You are wet and probably feeling most cold and uncomfortable too. It is quite understandable.**

 

 _You’re such a gentleman with me._

 

 **I know.**

 

 _How’s Sherlock?_

 

 **Thrilled to be using his brain on yet another case. This one seems to be causing him to spend a lot of time down at St. Bartholomew’s. I've got a meeting with Lestrade tomorrow so I’ll know more then.**

 

 _You should really make a list of the ones that entertain him the most._

 

 **Entitled, ‘Ways of ensuring Sherlock doesn't become too annoying?’**

 

 _Yes or, ‘Appropriate things to dangle in front of Sherlock when he gets bored.’_

 

*

 

“So any thoughts on Halloween?” you ask Mycroft on the 31st of October as your eyes flick across the news headlines at the bottom of the TV screen. 

 

“Yes. After what happened today I think they should ban it,” Mycroft replies immediately. 

 

“Oh God. What happened?” you ask and you stop reading the news headlines now and give him your full attention. 

 

So, “Picture the scene,” Mycroft begins ominously and you smile a little as you can tell already that this story is going to be good, “I wake up. Everything is peaceful and calm. I take a moment just to savour this new day. Then I roll around and check the time, before I decide to go and have a shower. Still, everything is fine,” and you giggle a little now at that last part, before Mycroft continues, “That is until I've just stepped into the bath and something goes off with a bang underneath my feet. A moment later the shower is triggered and hot, scalding water hits me,” and your mouth drops open a little now, “I stagger back and my vision’s impaired now too because there’s smoke so I crash rather ungracefully over the side of the bath and onto the floor,” and now you close your mouth and ram your free hand over it to try and stifle your giggles, “It’s then that I hear my brother, who is almost on the floor, as he shakes with laughter. Needless to say I wasn't best pleased and so I ended up going to work without a shower,” Mycroft finishes. 

 

You wait a moment and then when you think you’re safe and that you won’t burst out laughing you slowly lower your hand from your mouth, then, “Ouch,” you begin, although you can’t help but confess quickly afterwards, “Although actually I'm afraid to say it does sound rather funny.” 

 

“I thought you might say that,” Mycroft says perceptively, as if he knows that you've been holding back laughter for most of the story. 

 

“So did anything else happen?” you ask as lightly as possible as if it doesn't really matter, but of course it does, of course you want more.

 

And, “Of course, it's Halloween and Sherlock,” Mycroft says as if that should be obvious, not realizing that by doing so he’s granting your wish. 

 

 _“So?”_ you ask eagerly.

 

And, “Patience F/N,” Mycroft tells you, before, when he can sense that you’re at the very last point of being able to wait somewhat patiently, he finally continues, “So I get home to find the door jammed with chewing gum, which I had to dislodge, before I could enter. It was most disgusting. Then, before I could even take more than a step I somehow triggered another one of my brother’s traps and a bucket of sweets tipped out onto my head. This time when I recovered I found Sherlock laughing at me by the table.” 

 

“Well at least you can’t say that he prefers underfoot traps to overhead ones,” you reply teasingly. 

 

“Yes, he’s all about equality is Sherlock,” Mycroft says, his tone full of sarcasm, before he admits, “Anyway unfortunately that wasn't the end. He’d put a broomstick where my umbrella is normally kept. Thankfully I carry my umbrella with me now so he had not replaced it for such a thing. Then there was a skull on my bedside cabinet. I'm only relieved it was a fake one. And of course there’s the small matter of him trying to offer me live worms for dinner.” 

 

“Did you make him take them back outside?” you ask at once. 

 

“I tried but he ignored me,” Mycroft confesses, before, “So in the end I had to take them out myself. Of course trick or treaters then harassed me. One of whom decided I could do with eggs in my hair.” 

 

And you pull a face now at that last part, before you say as evenly as you can, “So not your best day then?”

 

“No,” Mycroft admits, before, “I hope yours went better?” he asks.

 

“Yes,” you say, although, “It was a lot less eventful though,” you admit, for his day though chaotic had been much more exciting than yours. “Penny’s a bit too young for trick or treating so I didn't have to go out with her, Kurt and Matilda for a start.” 

 

“Give it a few years and they’ll have you dressing up with them,” he tells you. 

 

“As what I wonder?” you say, tilting your head now and playing with your hair a little. 

 

“Hmmm,” Mycroft muses, before he concludes, “I'm seeing a witch, though that’s a bit obvious maybe,” and he thinks some more now, before, “Definitely not a ghost or mummy though,” for the thought of you covering up your beauty does not sit well with him and then he suggests, “Perhaps a zombie if you can pull off their slow walk. Or a vampire’s wife?”

 

“In that case I think you’d make a fine vampire,” you tell him, before you can stop yourself. 

 

And Mycroft’s lips part slightly at your suggestion now, for it’s moments like this that make him jerk out of the easy, natural conversations you have together and make him wonder what you’re thinking. Are you really flirting with him? Or are you just testing to see how he’ll react? Or is it a bit of both? And is it right that not only does he not mind whenever the conversation veers off into this territory but that he’s almost started to crave such occurrences? For he knows that he’s already allowed himself a lot of leeway in feeling things where you’re involved. But to take it even further, is that just a step too far? Should he be trying to combat such emotion? _Can_ it even be combated? He wonders now, for he’s had little luck in holding back any emotion where you’re concerned thus far. And would he really want to combat it even if he could? And that’s what scares him now. The fact that he’s got used to being on this roller coaster, so to speak, that he was once so reluctant to be on that he was fighting to get off, but that he still doesn't know where and when or if it will end. Instead the track just seems to stretch before him and he’s no more in control now than when he first got on. Yet still, somehow it’s exhilarating and thrilling and he craves more. But he’s wary and cautious still, rather like someone who’s trying to step over a sleeping dog, so, “You flatter me F/N,” he breathes. 

 

“I know,” you tell him, and even though it was hardly a dangerous response Mycroft finds himself letting out another little breath once more. 

 

*

 

 **Are you going to watch the fireworks tonight F/N?** Mycroft asks you as he makes his way cautiously down the slightly damp pavement around the side of the park, before he slips inside the park’s gates. And for once he’s not carrying an umbrella, though he is still dressed quite smartly, for his long, dark woollen coat covers most of his usual suit, whilst a maroon scarf is wrapped around his neck and his blue eyes shine in the semi-darkness. 

 

 _I'm heading down to the park right now actually. Will you be there?_ You reply, whilst you hurry across the road to the park. 

 

 **I will. I hope you’re suitably wrapped up, it’s rather chilly,** Mycroft sends as he creeps around on the slightly higher ground to get closer to the back of the park so that he might spot you as you arrive. 

 

 _I am. I'm wearing my warmest coat, scarf and gloves and I've acquired an umbrella just to make you happy,_ you reply with a smile, though admittedly you still feel cold as you slip inside the park gates where the scent of burgers and hot dogs that people are eating drifts across to you immediately. 

 

Mycroft ducks his head down quickly to send a quick and rather distracted, **I am suitably thrilled** , before his head jerks up again, for he doesn't want to miss you. 

 

For a moment he doesn't see you, you've snuck in rather quietly, but then his eyes pick you out as you make your steady way to what is the current back of the crowd and his heart does a little flip in his chest when he realizes that it is really you, and that you aren't a photograph this time or a vision in his head, but that you are actually there. And as his eyes roam over you he can see even in the dull light that your coat compliments your h/c hair perfectly, whilst your scarf and gloves, with their little eccentric patterns, remind him of every quirky thing you've ever said to him. His eyes fall down to linger on the small, black folded umbrella that you clutch in one hand now and a satisfied growl escapes his throat, before he can help it. Whilst your other hand is partly raised as it holds something and your head is slightly bent as you look at it. Then his phone buzzes and he can’t help but feel a small thrill when he realizes that he’s just been watching you text him. 

 

_Good. Oh, there’s quite a lot of people, isn't there? I always forget how many there is every year._

 

He smiles at that, before his smile grows somewhat when he looks up to see you as you crane your head and stand on your tiptoes as you try and get a clearer view of the bonfire from your position. And, **Indeed there is** , he sends, before he feels a mad urge to run down there, take your hand and drag you back to his current position, which he can see the bonfire from quite clearly. He almost does it as well, for he takes a couple of decisive steps forwards, but then a group of loud and laughing girls enter the park and go to stand behind you, obscuring his vision of you somewhat, and he loses his nerve. So he goes back to standing properly where he was before and then alternates between looking at the back of your head and the bonfire. 

 

A little while later the fireworks start and his eyes have just roamed down to look at the back of your head once more, whilst his mind wonders what you’re thinking about, when his phone buzzes and vibrates in his hand. 

 

 _Oh gosh, it’s beautiful isn't it?_ Your text to him reads and as he looks up from it and catches the way the light from the fireworks makes your hair shine he cannot help but look down a moment later and reply, **Yes, though if I may be so bold, it is not the only thing here tonight that is beautiful.**

 

Your heart jumps in your chest as you read it and realize that he must have recognized you from the description you’d given him, and as you let out a little breath it hangs suspended in the air for a moment, before it disappears. Then you look around, hoping that your eyes will come to fix on his, but you can’t see anyone who matches his description anywhere. So instead, whilst part of you wonders why he’s not coming over to see you, you swallow and settle for blushing furiously as you tap out with a smile, _Mr. Holmes are you trying to distract me from the fireworks?_

 

 **I might be** , Mycroft can’t help but reply, suddenly feeling with you in front of him as bold and warm as he would feel if he’d drunk a glass or two of whisky, before, **And again, if I may be so bold, it might be somewhat cold and dark and the fireworks may be giving off the main source of light but I find talking to you much more interesting** , he adds. 

 

And he doesn't look up into the sky again; he just watches the back of your head as he wonders what you think about his words and how you’ll reply. But when a few minutes go by with no response from you he begins to worry. For has he said too much? Are you ignoring him? Do you think badly of him? And so, worried that he’s messed everything up again on this most beautiful of nights, he sends with clumsy fingers, **F/N?**

 

You come out of your daze, caused by his last text, as your phone buzzes and feeling that he must think you so silly, for not having sent a reply, you tap out hurriedly, _Sorry, I just didn't know how to respond to that. Have you ever thought about becoming a writer?_ Because honestly you don’t know how else to tell him how beautiful his words were and how special they made you feel, like you were the only one, out of this entire happy, chattering, gasping crowd, who really mattered. 

 

And Mycroft smiles in relief at your text, before he sends with some humour attached, **That is my new back-up plan I confess, though I think you’d have to give me a few lessons, before I’d be ready.**

 

You swallow when you read his text and then you reply with a bold kind of casualness, _I could do that_ , before you look around hopefully again. 

 

And, **Good** , Mycroft replies, before he goes back to watching you instead of the fireworks once more. 

 

*

 

_God they've started playing Christmas music everywhere already!_

 

**What surprises me the most is that you’re actually surprised by this F/N.**

 

_I know. I should really know better by now. It happens earlier every year after all. But still…_

 

**You struggle with it.**

 

 _I do. And it’s not like I don’t like Christmas or anything, I'm no Scrooge. I just hate the way it seems to take over every month after August that’s all._

 

 **Your point is a valid one.**

 

 _Talking about Christmas though, I've been buying presents and I was wondering what on earth you get Sherlock?_

 

**Thankfully we've stopped exchanging presents now. But I used to get him thick volumes of books that he’d find interesting, ones about gruesome murders or something to do with science. Another safe bet was anything quirky that I could find. But yes it was a rather trying process. I'm glad it’s over now.**

 

_You sound relieved but I can’t help feeling a little sad that you don’t exchange presents any more. Still, if you don’t mind me asking, what did he get you?_

 

 **Ah, that’s an interesting question F/N. For the first few years I was given relatively safe gifts as his buying process was overseen by Mummy who used to veto his gift ideas. But then they wandered into increasingly dangerous territory. One year he gave me a diet book that he’d taken from the library and another a tie that had a naked woman on it. Needless to say I've never worn it.**

 

 _Perhaps it’s just as well that you don’t still exchange gifts after all then,_ you reply after a little hesitation, for something about the thought of Mycroft having a tie that has a naked woman on it somewhere in his possessions makes you feel a little uneasy and you can't help but wonder now if he looks at it sometimes... 

 

 **Indeed,** Mycroft replies, oblivious to how he's made you feel. 

 

*

 

_The weather forecasters are obsessed with trying to predict snow at the moment aren't they?_

 

**Ah, the magic of a white Christmas.**

 

 _Or the magic, if you want to be sarcastic, of trying to predict when London will grind to a halt._

 

**At least there’s still magic somewhere even in that scenario.**

 

 _You’re very determined to be cheerful today._

 

 **That I am. Sherlock’s busy and therefore happy. There are beaming carollers on every corner. And I am talking to you. Whilst I also found out today that I've been selected to attend a meeting in Brussels for two weeks in March.**

 

 _Wow, well done! That’s amazing!_

 

 _But you know, when you’re listing reasons of why you’re so happy you should really list the main one first._

 

 **But then there’d be no dramatic effect my dear F/N.**

 

 _True. Very true. Still, well done, though!_

 

 **Thank you. You are at least more excited than Sherlock. When I told him he just told me to, ‘Shut up and make dinner.’**

 

_Well at least you know he’s all right._

 

 **That’s true.**

 

*

 

 **I hope you had a nice Christmas F/N.**

 

_It was lovely thank you. I think I told you but anyway I was at Kurt’s house and it was really nice. I'm not sure Penny’s quite at the age where she can appreciate Christmas just yet though…_

 

 **But it was a moment to savour the silence, before the storm?**

 

_Something like that yeah. Anyway how was yours? Did Sherlock behave himself?_

 

 **It was fine, thank you and mostly yes. I had to pretty much cover his mouth with one of those paper hats you get out of crackers though to keep him quiet for the Queen’s Speech.**

 

_Oh for your Mum?_

 

 **No, for Father actually. Mummy, well, let’s just say that she isn't the biggest fan of the Royal Family.**

 

_Interesting. So did you get any nice gifts?_

 

 **This might sound a little dull to you but I had a lovely pair of ties. The colours on them are really something to behold.**

 

 _They sound nice._

 

 **And you? What did you get F/N?**

 

_A really nice writing pad that’s got a proper hardback cover and a pattern that I think you’d approve of._

 

 **Oh? Describe it for me please.**

 

_Well, it’s kind of swirly but pretty, like flowers you see sometimes opening up in slow motion on those nature shows, but made out of several colours instead. Hang on, I’ll take a photo of it._

 

 _Here: attached is a photo of an A4-sized navy writing pad. It looks sturdy and as if even if five cups of tea were spilt over it in a quick succession it wouldn't be enough to penetrate the paper inside it. Whilst almost circular beams of colours, such as silver, red, light blue, white, gold and indigo that never quite link with each other are spread across its cover._

 

 **You’re right. It’s absolutely beautiful.**

 

 _Oh gosh, look outside! It’s snowing!_

 

 **And London just ground to a halt.**

 

 _Shush you, it’s beautiful!_

 

 **That it is.**

 

*

 

 _Happy New Year Mycroft._

 

**Happy New Year F/N.**


	6. Brussels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or the one where everything falls apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, thank you so much once again for all your support! :D   
> I'm so glad that so many of you seem to be enjoying this fic!   
> I hope you enjoy this chapter too. :)

_Now it snows._

 

**Now it snows, yes. Have you just got up for work?**

 

_Yes why?_

 

**Because in that case I need to give you a fair warning that the pavements are toxic. More toxic in fact than any of Sherlock’s past experiments.**

 

_Oh thank you. How is Sherlock by the way?_

 

**Grumpy. The festive period was especially busy for him. But now that it’s all over everything seems to have hit a particular slump.**

 

_Did you ever make that list of ways to entertain him?_

 

**I'm afraid I didn't, no. I'm most regretting it now though.**

 

_Perhaps you should buy him one of those things that people dangle in front of cats._

 

**If I could attach an exciting crime to its end rather than a toy mouse then that wouldn't be a bad idea.**

 

_Or you could always get him some blank sheet music. That way he could compose something for the violin._

 

**F/N! What a wonderful idea!**

 

_You can thank me later._

 

[Some time later.] **You have made Sherlock a very happy man.**

 

_And you?_

 

**That goes without saying F/N.**

 

*

 

**I have no idea what your opinion is about this particular day but I wanted to wish you a happy Valentine’s Day F/N** , Mycroft finally sends around lunchtime after having on and off thoughts about whether he should or shouldn't bring up the topic for the entire morning. 

 

It makes you smile when you receive it and you lock your computer screen, before you get up and collect your things together to take an early lunch. And as it is a nice day you walk outside and take a walk to sit on one of the benches in the park, before you reply, _Thank you, and that’s a bit of a tricky one. I mean I think it’s something that I want to celebrate. But obviously when you’re not dating someone it’s a bit trickier to really embrace it. What are your thoughts?_

 

Mycroft snatches his phone off his desk as soon as it buzzes and takes a little breath of relief when he reads your response and sees that you haven’t taken offence by him mentioning it being Valentine’s Day. Then, feeling encouraged enough to be bold, he can’t help but send, **Much the same as yours actually. So if you were seeing someone what would your perfect Valentine’s Day be F/N?**

 

You swallow after you read his text and then you take a moment to just unwrap your sandwich and take a small bite of it, before you lower it back into your lunch box and pick up your phone again from your lap, whilst you chew and stare a little thoughtfully off into the distance. For should you actually tell him what you’d like? Or should you just make something up? But then you remember how perceptive he is and even if he wasn't he’d probably still be able to tell, by now, when you weren't being completely honest with him. So you tap a little hesitantly, _Well, and this might be a bit forwards but I think to wake up with that person would definitely start the day off right. And then later that day a nice dinner, but not in a restaurant or anything, just the two of you at home, and then a nice, quiet night in. Snuggling on the settee maybe._

 

When Mycroft’s phone buzzes he picks it up as he would normally, but once he’s read it he feels that he can’t reply so soon after reading it and before he’s fully taken your words in. So instead his thoughts meander, before he can even stop them, to what it would be like if he was with you right then and not in the office. If he was, in short, the one spending your perfect Valentine’s Day with you. If he had woken up with you this morning, and he tries to imagine how the light might have fallen upon your face first thing now. If he had dinner with you to look forwards to later on, what meal would you both be eating? And what would you talk about? Would it feel as natural as your phone and text conversations? Or would it be more difficult? And then the last part-

 

And he jumps now as his phone buzzes in his hands. Then he looks down at the new message to see that you've sent an obviously worried and uncertain, _Mycroft?_

 

So he swallows now, before he taps out, **Sorry I was just thinking. That does sound very intimate and very nice though** , in an absent-minded fashion, before he carries on getting carried away with his thinking, and he wonders now what it would be like to have your body so close to his… 

 

*

 

“…Good luck with everything in Brussels,” you tell Mycroft in the second week of March. 

 

“Thank you,” he murmurs. 

 

“What time’s your flight?” you ask, and for some reason you feel a bit nervous and apprehensive and as if you can’t talk properly to him. 

 

“Ah,” Mycroft begins as he holds his phone in between his ear and shoulder by tilting his head as his fingers fold a crisp, white shirt, before they place it neatly into his suitcase, “First thing in the morning.”

 

“Right,” you reply, and you shift your position a little awkwardly now from where you’re standing by the door in between your bedroom and living room. And then for something to say you blurt out, “How’s Sherlock?”

 

Mycroft sighs a little now, before he straightens up and then holds the phone to his ear with his hand. Then, “He’s a little unpredictable,” he admits, “I've been away with work before, but a lot of the time its still been in this country. And of course I haven’t been out of the country since, before his little incident last summer. So I think part of him is worried, though not as worried as I am naturally.”

 

“You know,” you begin a little hesitantly, before you plunge on tentatively, “If something were to happen then you could always phone me and I could, I don’t know, go and check on him or whatever it was that you needed me to do, whilst you flew back.” 

 

“Thank you F/N. I shall bear that in mind,” he replies seriously, and you wonder if he is making a note of it in his mind palace and perhaps taping it to one of the garden gnomes by the pond with its one goldfish. Then, not wanting to dwell on all the bad things that might happen when he’s away, he asks, “What are you up to?” pleasantly as he flips the lid of the suitcase shut and sits down on his bed. 

 

“Oh, nothing much,” you say, a little taken aback by the sudden shift in conversation, before you realize that you should probably say something more so you add, “I was just going to read actually. Its been quite a stressful day at work.”

 

_“Oh?”_ Mycroft says as if he is sorry to hear that. 

 

“Yes,” you tell him, before you admit, “The system’s changed a bit and its made everything more difficult. So I've had computer problems because not everything has been updated at the same time so it’s all clashing with each other, and then there were some customers going mad at me on the phone…”

 

“In that case I hope that everything gets better soon,” he murmurs sincerely. 

 

“Thank you,” you say, and you rub a hand across your tired face now, and then because its been something that’s been gnawing at your insides all day, and if you’re honest the _real_ reason why you've had such a bad day, you blurt out, “When you’re away will we still be in touch?” And Mycroft opens his mouth a little now, but before he can say anything you carry on, “Oh God, I'm sorry, that probably sounded so silly to you. I mean we don’t have to. You’ll probably be so busy, I don’t want to put any extra pressure on you. It’s just that I don’t think we've ever not talked for that long since we started talking and it’s going to be really strange and”-

 

“F/N?” Mycroft interrupts you finally and you let out a little breath. 

 

Then, “Yes?” you ask timidly. 

 

“Of course we’ll stay in touch,” Mycroft tells you and you breathe a little sigh of relief. Then, “In fact I'm counting on it,” he tells you, before, “Who else will be able to calm me down after a long day of answering questions in at least seven different languages?” 

 

And you giggle now. 

 

“Although I do think it would be best if I called you. Unless it’s an emergency of course. I don’t want your phone bill to be sky high because of me.”

 

“Okay,” you breathe and you feel better now. 

 

Mycroft smiles and then, “So we’ll talk tomorrow?” he asks you. 

 

And, “Of course,” you reply. 

 

*

 

“F/N?” Mycroft says the following night as soon as you pick up the phone. 

 

And “Yes?” you respond straight away. 

 

“Christ,” he lets out a breath and your body tenses now, before it relaxes somewhat as he groans, “You have no idea how nice it is to hear a familiar voice.”

 

“That bad already huh?” you ask, suddenly feeling grateful for your more mundane life. 

 

“In a way,” he agrees, “Though I think it was just the combination of travelling and small talk combined.”

 

“Still, practice for tomorrow?” you ask, trying to keep the mood upbeat.

 

And, “Practice for tomorrow,” he agrees, sounding weary and tired. 

 

And it makes you ask, “Would you like me to tell you a story?” because after all you still owe him from when he’d told you one all those months before. 

 

He smiles, then, “Okay,” he murmurs as he goes to lie down on the bed. 

 

You hear the rustling of his clothes down the line and so you give him a moment, before you ask him, “Comfortable?” 

 

“Exceptionally,” he tells you, as his body sinks into the soft, white duvet of the bed in the hotel room and his head rests partly on his free arm, which is bent leisurely behind him, whilst his blue eyes close so that he can just focus on your voice. 

 

“In that case I’ll begin,” you tell him, before a smile plays on your lips as you say, “Once upon a time,” and Mycroft makes a sound of amusement in his throat. “There was a man called Mycroft Holmes. He’d already established that he was the best dancer in the land,” and Mycroft smiles now, “But unfortunately that had only made the land’s people want more from him. So one day they sent him away to a strange land where there were a lot of people gathering from all different lands and speaking all different languages. Mycroft was a brave man, but even he felt uncertain about it all at first. Not to mention the fact that he missed his brother and home”-

 

“And you,” Mycroft interrupts you firmly. 

 

“Hmm?” you ask, thrown a little by this interruption. 

 

“Mycroft missed you F/N,” Mycroft tells you as he opens his eyes and raises his head a little. 

 

“Oh, um, yes, Mycroft missed F/N too,” you agree and Mycroft closes his eyes and sinks happily back down onto the duvet, before he wriggles about a little as you say tentatively, “And F/N missed him,” before you continue, “But he knew that in order to go home to those people and feel happy about doing so he had to do a good job in this land first. So he focused on what needed to be done and whenever he found himself getting a little uncertain he just thought about F/N, his brother and all the people depending on him back home. In short, he thought of all the people who were cheering him on. If some people had done this then it might have made them even more nervous. But with Mycroft the reverse was true and it just made him braver. So brave in fact that the two weeks he spent away from his land couldn't have gone any better for him. And when he came home everyone was very pleased and appreciative of how he’d performed. So pleased in fact that they threw an impromptu ball”-

 

“F/N?” Mycroft interrupts you now. 

 

And, “Yes?” 

 

“I like where this is going,” Mycroft tells you now and you smile. 

 

“So an impromptu ball was thrown, but despite how sudden it was and despite the fact that no one had time to dress up, let alone decorate or anything like that, everyone in the land agreed by its end that it was the best ball they’d ever thrown.”

 

“And for Mycroft,” Mycroft begins tentatively, but then, perhaps because he is in Brussels and so far removed from you he feels bold enough, or crazy enough as the truth might be, to continue more strongly, “It was the best ball he’d ever attended because he got the chance to dance with F/N again. It made him happy because although he’d rather let the first opportunity pass him by without much incident, this time, buoyed by the second chance he’d been given, he was determined not to let it go to waste. So when the final song came to its close he stilled his movements, though he did not move his hand from F/N’s waist or slip his hand out of hers. Then he said”-

 

“I really want to meet you,” you blurt out without thinking. 

 

“Hmm?” Mycroft asks, a tad confused by your words. 

 

And, “I'm sorry,” you say, before you continue with a little breathless rush in your voice, “I didn't mean to interrupt your story. It just came out. But it’s true. I think, if you’d be willing, then when you come back I’d really like to meet you.”

 

For a moment Mycroft just takes your words in, then, “I think I’d really like that too,” he murmurs. 

 

Your breath shifts a little now and then you ask as evenly as you can, “So what was the Mycroft in the story about to tell F/N?” whilst your heart beats unevenly in your chest. 

 

“Perhaps I’ll tell you when I see you,” Mycroft replies in a slightly uncertain voice, before he disconnects the call. And then as he sits up alone in his hotel room and surrounded by the pale light of the dying day, he murmurs, “He was about to say that he thinks he might be falling in love with her.”

 

For he can’t pretend that this isn't how he’s feeling or ignore such a thing any longer. He can’t just pretend that, even as early as last August, he’d asked what you’d worn to the barbecue just out of a casual interest, or that he hadn't found you beautiful in the images he’d obtained of you, or that he’d been so fixed on you during Bonfire Night because he’d wanted solely to be your friend. He can’t pretend that his heart hasn't jumped every time your words have grown more playful or teasing down the phone or that every time you've said anything that could be filed as being remotely flirtatious his mind hasn't analysed it late at night as he’s tried to get to sleep. He just can’t do it any more because he can’t push such feelings down any longer, not when they've been rising inside him for weeks, perhaps months and threatening to erupt out of him, and he definitely can’t do it now you've said you want to meet him. And suddenly he wishes that he was seeing you tomorrow, or perhaps even right then, so he could look at you properly and perhaps get the words out that he’d failed to, once you’d interrupted him, to get out tonight… 

 

*

 

“…I'm so glad it went okay,” you say once Mycroft’s finished regaling how the first day went. 

 

“Yes, it was tiring, but quite honestly I think talking to you last night helped prepare me for it all. Didn't I say it was wise for us to keep in touch during this time?” Mycroft replies. 

 

And you chuckle now. 

 

But then, “Oh, I must show you something. Hang on, I’ll just disconnect this call, send it you and then I’ll call you back, okay?”

 

“Okay,” you say, but before you can say anything else the line goes dead. So you wait until with a buzz your phone goes off, before you open the new text message that has come through.

 

**Here it is. I found it in a second-hand bookshop that’s near the hotel during a walk this evening: attached is a photo of an A4-sized, hardback book that is landscape rather than portrait in its nature. Its paper covering is slightly scuffed and ruffled on the top right-hand corner but the cover is beautiful nonetheless. It is an acrylic painting of the top half of a dark-haired man, dressed smartly in a bow tie and tails, and a woman, a vision in a red dress, her long h/c hair slightly curled at the bottom as it drapes across one almost bare shoulder as they gaze at each other intently in the midst of a ballroom dance. Whilst the background is a haze of dark blue, light blue and white short brush strokes. To the left, in bold silver letters, is the proclamation: Learn to Dance in Ten Easy Lessons. Whilst the author’s names-R.M Taylor and K.P Jones-fill the bottom of the cover in silver lettering.**

 

And your breath catches a little in your chest now as you look at it. For it reminds you of your first phone call with Mycroft and all your talks together since. 

 

So when your phone rings you pick up the call at once. 

 

Then, “Do you like it?” Mycroft asks you at once. 

 

“I love it,” you confess. 

 

“Good,” he replies pleasantly, “Because I bought it for you.”

 

“Oh you shouldn't have!” you exclaim. 

 

“Nonsense, just think of it as our nearly one year anniversary of knowing each other present,” he says, and your head spins a little now because it feels so strange to think that this time last year you didn't even know Mycroft when he has become such a big part of your life now. 

 

So, “Thank you,” you say a little shyly. 

 

And, “You are most welcome,” he tells you, before he confesses somewhat sheepishly, “I don’t, though, have your address.”

 

“Oh, right, of course,” you say, before you recite it out to him. 

 

And at its end he says, “I shall post it first thing tomorrow. Good night F/N.”

 

“Good night Mycroft and thank you,” you tell him. 

 

But, “The pleasure’s all mine,” he says. 

 

*

 

“Bored, bored, bored,” Sherlock mutters as he paces back and forth around the flat. 

 

He’d phoned Lestrade so many times asking for a case that Lestrade had in the end told him firmly that whilst there was nothing Sherlock could help them with right then he would phone him as soon as anything cropped up and Sherlock was not to phone him again. And nothing needs to be altered with his current experiment and the fridge is full because Mycroft had stocked up on enough food, before he went away so Sherlock doesn't even need to go out, and quite frankly what with London seeming so dull, grey and boring at the moment he has no desire to. 

 

So he stops his pacing now and swings his head around irritably. Then, there must be something he can do! There must be some benefit to Mycroft being away! He thinks. And his eyes fix upon Mycroft’s bedroom door now as a neat little idea pops into his head. Mycroft after all had searched his and been through his things, hadn't he? So this was no more harmful than making everything all even between them. And his long legs take him right across to the door now in a sneaky fashion, before he darts inside. 

 

At first glance Mycroft’s bedroom is rather boring, plain and tidy. But in a way that only encourages Sherlock more because he knows that to find anything interesting he’ll have to work for it. So he starts with the wardrobe first but that only holds clothes and even when Sherlock runs his hands around the back, bottom and sides of it he doesn't find anything. So he closes it with a bit of a frown, before he goes on to attack the drawers. Still, apart from getting the chance to wrinkle his nose when he comes across Mycroft’s underwear there is nothing. So he closes them with a bit of a thud and then stands up and looks around. Mycroft’s briefcase is usually propped up by the leg of the desk but his brother has taken that with him so that’s a lost chance. And there is nothing exciting on the desk, just the usual stationary, blank writing paper, envelopes and old letters from Mummy and Father sent during Mycroft’s university days collected together by a red elastic band. He doesn't think Mycroft will be that obvious, but just in case he looks underneath the bed anyway. Of course there is nothing there. So Sherlock frowns and wanders across to where the bedside cabinet is to see if there is anything on top of it. But aside from the lamp, clock and a boring looking book about Ancient Greek politics that Sherlock picks up and shakes hopefully there is nothing. And he's just putting the book back down and thinking that perhaps he should do the same with the other books on the small bookshelf above the desk just in case that helps to yield anything when his eyes are drawn to the single drawer of the bedside cabinet. So he reaches down to open it, not expecting to find anything more interesting then what he has found so far as he tugs it open. But then he sees the manila folder. 

 

*

Everything about the morning seems to make you smile. From the moment you wake up to the low stream of early spring sunshine that shines through your window despite the cloud, to hearing one of your current favourite songs as you eat your breakfast, nothing can dull your mood. And of course one of the things that makes you smile the most is the thought of the dance book Mycroft bought making its way to you and of course the idea of talking to him later that day. You also have the day off work so that really is the icing on the cake. 

 

And you’re just thinking that you’ll have an early lunch soon, head to the park and pick up dessert on the way back when your mobile phone rings. 

 

The number’s not one that you recognize so you frown at it for a moment, before you decide to pick it up with a curious, “Hello?”

 

“F/N?” a deep, velvet voice asks and your brows furrow. 

 

Then, “Who is this?” you ask, because you need to establish how they know you, before you confirm who you are. Kurt’s lectures about safety have taught you that much at least.

 

“It’s Sherlock,” comes the reply and your lips part a little now, before your body relaxes a little. 

 

So, “Oh, hello. Is everything all right?” you ask, already thinking of trying to get hold of Mycroft if they aren't. 

 

But, “Do you know that my brother’s got a folder on you?” Sherlock asks. 

 

“I-what?” you ask, thrown by his abruptness. 

 

“He’s got a folder on you,” Sherlock repeats impatiently now, “Its got information about you inside it, your age, height, address and so on and there’s even photographs of you from CCTV there.”

 

“I…why are you telling me this?” you ask and your voice wavers a little now, whilst on the inside you feel both cold and uncertain. 

 

“Because I think he’s had it for a while,” Sherlock begins, “And I think I thought that your relationship with him was something else than what it really now appears to be from his eyes. I mean I suppose after the bet I should have”-

 

“What?” you interrupt him now, and your entire body feels cold and you can feel the goose pimples erupting on your arms and you don’t want to hear any more, you really don’t, but it’s like you can’t stop because you have to know so when Sherlock falters and hesitates you ask, “What bet?”

 

“He never told you?” Sherlock asks you and he sounds surprised now. 

 

“Sherlock, please, what bet?” you plead, tears already pooling in your eyes and beginning to curve around your cheeks because your body has already realized something your head can’t even begin to comprehend yet, which is that this is the moment where everything falls apart. 

 

“That’s the reason he stayed in touch with you in the first place. I bet that he couldn't stay in touch with you for a month and he agreed to it saying that in return he wanted me to find a proper job. Didn't you ever wonder why he wanted to stay in touch with you?” and his tone isn't spiteful now, just curious. 

 

_Yes_ , you silently think in your head because of course you can remember wondering just that, but you don’t answer him. You just disconnect the call with shaking hands, before an angry groan leaves your lips as you fling the phone down. It bounces a little, before it falls down the side of the settee. And another frustrated sound escapes you as you go around, fling the cushion up and reach down to retrieve it. Then you plunk it down on the coffee table this time and run a frustrated hand through your hair as you stare at it. 

 

You've been such an idiot this whole time. Mycroft must have been laughing at you. And anger begins to rise through you now and it grows and builds inside you as your lip wobbles and your breath trembles and sloppy tears fall down your face. For all this time you’d been telling people that he wasn't that way when he was. And all this time you’d been so grateful for him and even begun to think that _maybe_ …

 

And now the anger makes your hand fly across to pick up the phone from the coffee table, before it makes you call Mycroft. 

 

You cannot know that Mycroft’s in a meeting or that as soon as he sees your number his mind flares alight with worry that either Sherlock or you might be in danger and so he tells the rest of the congregation, “I'm sorry, but I have to take this, it’s a matter of most urgency.”

 

All you know is that as soon as you hear Mycroft picking it up, as soon as he says a cautious, “Hello? Mycroft Holmes speaking,” the words, “Why didn't you tell me?” burst out of your mouth. 

 

And your burst of anger makes Mycroft’s breath catch in his throat as if someone has just taken a swipe at his stomach, before it makes his brows furrow with confusion, and so, very aware of the entire congregation watching him, he asks, “Excuse me?” as evenly as possible. 

 

“The bet,” you huff out now, before, “Why didn't you tell me about the bet?” and you have to struggle to even get the words out. 

 

Mycroft’s eyes flicker with something, before he forces his expression into a composed one once more, though inside his heart quickens its pace and his mind fills with worry and panic and he doesn't know how he is supposed to react to your words with everyone looking at him, for he can’t even take their full impact in so, “I'm in a meeting at the moment,” just ends up coming out of his mouth. 

 

“I don’t care!” you yell at him, for this just seems to be further proof of how little your relationship means to him and it makes you even angrier, and he swallows. 

 

Then, “Yes, well, I'm afraid”- Mycroft begins and his hand fidgets with the fabric of his trousers underneath the table nervously now. 

 

“And the folder! How long have you known what I look like? How long have you been lying to me? I made such a big deal in my mind about letting you know some details about me, but you already knew by then didn't you?” and you take a little breath now, before you go on, “If you wanted to know so badly before I told you then you should have just asked!”

 

“I”-

 

“Did I really mean so little to you? Was I just an experiment to you? Leverage, so that your brother would finally do as you wanted and get a proper job? Was I just something you could make fun of? You must have found it so funny when I was trying to make everyone see you weren't a cold-hearted bastard when all this time you were!” you say and the emotion in your voice makes Mycroft’s chest constrict painfully, but still aware of all the eyes on him he cannot find the words to explain let alone get them out, and he hears you huff in frustration down the phone at him, before he hears a soft click and that is when his insides begin to feel like they've just fallen off the side of a cliff. 

 

But on the outside he has to be calm. It would do no good for him to fall apart here and so, even though he wants to run out of the meeting and try and get his thoughts straight, before he calls you, he just lowers the phone slowly from his ear, slips it back into his pocket, looks up and says with a forced smile, “I'm most sorry about that, please continue,” but his tone is a stony one and his smile leaves as quickly as it came. 

 

He finds it difficult to concentrate and really he has little desire to speak but he has a job to do after all so he speaks as much as he needs to and some more, whilst during the interludes of other people talking his mind wanders to you. It’s clear to him that Sherlock must have found the file and told you about it. But why? Was it just another instance of Sherlock being cruel or something else? _Jealousy_ perhaps? And the very thought makes something in Mycroft’s stomach writhe with a sudden anger, before his heart sinks with a sigh back down into his chest, for things had been going so well between him and you lately, so very well, and what with you planning on meeting up too it just makes him feel even more frustrated that the whole thing appears to be unravelling now. 

 

Finally the meeting breaks for a late lunch but Mycroft feels far from hungry so he steps swiftly outside instead and takes a few deep breaths of the dull, somewhat chilly air, whilst the light breeze ruffles his hair, before he goes over to the hand rail that curves above some grey steps and clutches it with his hands for a moment. Then, as he still clutches it with one hand, he calls Sherlock. 

 

“Why did you tell her?” He asks as soon as Sherlock picks up. 

 

“I thought”-

 

“No, don’t speak for a moment. I'm paying for this call so I want to say everything that I need to. Why were you rooting through my things? And why upon finding that folder did it make you want to ring her? You’re not usually one for a moral conscience”-

 

“Unlike you I suppose?” Sherlock interrupts him now and Mycroft takes in a sharp little breath, “I thought that for once here was someone who you felt you didn't have to abuse your powers for. How wrong I was. How long did it take for you to look her up Mycroft? One day of knowing her?”-

 

“It was when you got ill actually,” Mycroft bites back now. 

 

“Oh was it?” Sherlock retorts, “The perfect distraction was she? The perfect play thing to get your mind off me, your wayward junkie brother?” and an angry flush blotches Mycroft’s face now. 

 

Then, “Don’t talk about what”-

 

“What I don’t understand?” Sherlock interrupts with a bit of an incredulous laugh now. “That’s a bit rich coming from you Mycroft isn't it? And people say I'm weird, but you…you really don’t care about anyone do you? I thought for once someone had got through to you! I thought she was good for you! I even thought you might love her!”

 

“I _do_ love her!” Mycroft explodes now, causing a pigeon to flap up into the air from where it had been pecking at some crumbs on the ground just yards in front of him and causing several people’s heads to turn to look at him, so he tries to get himself together, before he exhales, “Christ, I do love her,” for he knows now, having said it out loud to Sherlock, with a hundred per cent certainty that it’s true. 

 

“You don’t go behind someone’s back and look up information on them! That isn't love Mycroft!” Sherlock snaps now, before he adds, “Or actually perhaps for you it is, spying is certainly how you seem to show your care for me at any rate.”

 

“I talk to Lestrade about you because I'm trying to protect you,” Mycroft says in a pleading voice as he tries to get Sherlock to understand. 

 

“And with her? Why did you feel the need to look up her?” Sherlock demands as he asks, “I thought she already would have told you enough about herself by that point that you wouldn't have had to.” 

 

Mycroft huffs a little now, then, “I wish I never had,” he confesses, before he reads Sherlock’s mind and adds perceptively, “Not just because of what’s happened now. I regretted it as soon as I did it. But I was stressed and…”

 

“One thing led to another?” Sherlock supplies and he sounds disgusted now. 

 

“Yes, I suppose it did,” Mycroft confesses heavily and he runs a weary hand across his face now. But then a thought occurs to him and so he says firmly, “If you found the folder then you must have also found the poem?” as his free hand drops down to the rail once more.

 

And there’s a little silence now, before, “Yes I did,” Sherlock admits, and then, although he’s reluctant to, he confesses, “That was the only bit of evidence that didn't make sense to me, the only bit that corroborates what you've told me now about loving her”-

 

“Yet you still ignored it and phoned her anyway,” Mycroft interrupts his brother coldly now and he hears Sherlock swallow at the other end, before he huffs out wearily, “Why did you tell her about the bet?” 

 

And he can almost see Sherlock shifting his position now, then, “I thought she knew,” he says honestly, “I thought that would have come out a long time ago and that it didn't matter”-

 

“Of course it matters Sherlock!” Mycroft interrupts with a yell of exasperation and he can almost see Sherlock scowling and wincing a little because this is the equivalent of Mycroft calling him stupid and Sherlock hates being called stupid. “When you tell someone that the person they've been in contact with only first contacted them for a bet of course it matters, of course it can’t just be brushed aside”-

 

“Then just tell her!” Sherlock says angrily now. “Just tell her that’s how it started but your reasons changed”-

 

“Oh, I wish it could be that simple Sherlock, but I really fear it won’t be,” Mycroft tells him coldly. 

 

So “Why?” Sherlock asks, and Mycroft can tell that he hates not understanding and feels frustrated. 

 

But even so he’s in no mood to be caring or delicate so, “ _Feelings_ brother dear,” he spells out and he can almost see Sherlock’s lips part as a greater understanding hits him on the other side. 

 

And then Mycroft disconnects the call because he has no desire to talk to Sherlock about his feelings for you or any possible feelings that you might have begun to have for him because that involves everything. And everything involves your teasing voice down the phone, your reassuring words whenever he’s feeling uncertain, your laugh and the story of him and you and now everything’s too up in the air for it to all exist in the first place. In fact it’s like someone has got a physical representation of every memory he has of you, of every sweet word and playful moment, and thrown it all up into the air and told him that unless he manages to catch them all safely with his hands they’ll all be broken and gone forever. And it’s all so jumbled and messy that Mycroft can’t even think straight even though he so desperately wants to. And if he could he’d lay everything out right there on the somewhat damp ground and take it all in to try and make sense of it all. But then lunch is over and he’s forced to go back miserably inside with not even the prospect of talking to you that night to look forward to. 

 

*

That afternoon is the worst afternoon the both of you have ever experienced since you’d first got in touch with each other. 

 

In London you pace back and for, whilst you hurtle between feeling angry and sad, your thoughts a mess. Whilst in Brussels Mycroft is forced to pretend to be concentrating on the meeting when all he can think about is you. 

 

*

 

“Kurt,” you cry down the phone that night when you can’t cope with being alone with your incessant thoughts any longer and when you feel more tearful than angry. 

 

“F/N?” Kurt says in alarm when he hears that your voice is thick with a sob. 

 

Then, “You were right,” you get out, “About Mycroft, you were right!”

 

Kurt’s body freezes up with tension now, then, “Where are you F/N? Are you at your flat?” 

 

And it’s a moment, before you can finally get the word, “Yes,” out. 

 

“Are you alone?” Kurt asks. 

 

“Yes,” you repeat and even though it’s just one word the tone in which you say it conveys how anxious and distressed you feel all the same. 

 

So, “Right, well I’ll be there as quick as I can, okay F/N? And I’ll bring Matilda and Penny too so you won’t be alone for much longer, okay F/N?”

 

“Okay,” you manage, before the call disconnects quickly at Kurt’s end in his rush to get to you and so you lower the phone back slowly into its cradle, before feeling cold, you go to curl up on the settee with a blanket as you wait, feeling every inch as pathetic as you look. 

 

It seems to take forever for them to come and your thoughts snipe at you, making your breath jagged and uneven, and making you wish that they would just go away, even if that meant you were just left with a blank space inside your mind because right now that would hurt less. That would hurt less than this voice inside your head telling you that you've been naïve and so, so stupid for even considering Mycroft was really interested in keeping in touch with you in the first place. As soon as he’d proposed such a thing the first thing you should have done was to ask why? But you’d been so caught up in feeling pleased about the fact, that you’d never asked, being far happier to just be ignorant of any dark possibilities. And that was you all over during the time you’d known him wasn't it? The voice snipes at you. For right from the start you’d ignored your own brother, which was one thing. But to ignore Sally, who actually had more of a link with one of the Holmes’s at any rate, and to continue doing so, had been so foolish of you. All through it you’d been determined to see the best in him. And you gasp a little now as you realize that as soon you’d heard about Mycroft pushing Lestrade from Sally, you should have walked away from him completely. For how could you have had any more of a warning about what the man was like? But no, instead of deleting his number you’d allowed him to make you want to stay in touch with him and gone even deeper down the rabbit hole. And now everything is ten times worse than if you’d walked away then. For at least then you’d have had some of your dignity intact. You wouldn't have known all of this for a start and it would have felt like you’d been in control of the situation. But now, and you bite down hard on your lip, you've got all the other memories since then and greater feelings, much greater feelings for him that make you want to curl up and sob because how can you have allowed yourself to fall in love with a man like that? Because that’s what your feelings have built up into you realize now. That’s why you've wanted to hear from him so badly, that’s why your heart had flipped over at the way he’d said certain things or when he’d called you beautiful, that’s why you've felt so happy lately, that’s why the most secret part of you, right before you've fallen asleep, had allowed a daydream or two of what might happen when Mycroft returned to slip through your mind. But they’ll remain daydreams forever now because all this time he’s just been manipulating you and playing a game with you, no doubt to make his own life less boring. All this time he’s just been building you up more and more to make you look even more stupid when the time came to reveal it all. And you wonder now, whether he would have ever stopped the charade and come clean with you. Or would he have let it go on forever, as you suspect he might have, just to carry on getting his cheap thrills from it all? But then maybe that’s why he’d agreed to meet up, you think suddenly now. Maybe he was going to reveal to you in person how stupid you’d been. And at least Sherlock saved you from that, you think. 

 

But then there’s a knock on your door and you jump and let out a little gasp of relief, before you hurriedly unfurl from the blanket and stagger up and across to let them in. 

 

You barely see Kurt, before his arms are around you and the warmth and feel of him so close only makes your body tremble more violently and encourages more tears to roll down your face in a quick succession because although you haven’t been the strongest up until now, now with your brother there you feel like you can finally let go completely. And for the longest of times he just holds you and strokes your hair as soothingly as he can with his large, somewhat clumsy fingers. Then very tentatively he steps back a little and holds you a little away from him by your shoulders so that he can look at you. You know you look a mess. But of course you can’t see what Kurt sees. You can’t see that your hair is messy and a somewhat blown up version of its usual self because of how you've been running your fingers through it, you can’t see your eyes pooling with tears or how vulnerable you look as your bottom lip trembles, and you can’t know how angry it makes Kurt feel to see you looking so broken. 

 

“Oh F/N,” he breathes, and there’s so much pity and heartache for you in those two words that unable to look at him any more you look away. 

 

And Matilda, who’s been taking everything in this whole time with Penny in her arms, kicks into action. “Right,” she says, “F/N, I'm assuming you haven’t eaten yet and we haven’t either, so Kurt, you can go to the nearest fish and chip shop that you can find, okay? In the mean time I’ll settle Penny down and make us all a drink.”

 

Kurt hesitates now, his eyes still on you, for he can’t bear to leave you so soon. 

 

But, “She’ll still be here when you get back,” Matilda tells him and he nods, before he looks at you one more time and then leaves. 

 

Matilda closes the door behind him and then she goes across and puts Penny down a little away from the coffee table. Then she gets a small, rectangular shape puzzle out of her handbag and puts it down in front of Penny, who clutches it at once and begins to try and figure it out. 

 

“Why don’t you keep an eye on her for a moment F/N? I’ll just make us a nice hot drink,” Matilda tells you. 

 

“Okay,” you say, and you go across slowly and sink down into the settee again, but you push the blanket away for now. 

 

Penny looks around at you for a moment and then she continues with her puzzle. 

 

So you take a couple of deep breaths and try and get yourself together but as soon as Matilda places both of your drinks down on the coffee table, before she sits down, you fall apart once more. 

 

“He only wanted to stay in touch with me because he had a stupid bet on with his brother,” you tell her as you cry once more, and she looks at you with shock and sadness in her eyes now. 

 

Then, “Oh God F/N,” she says, before she sweeps you up into her arms and you cry the most you've done that day, your head pushing against her shoulder, your nose almost wrinkling because of her perfume and her hand on the back of your head. 

 

And you stay like that for a moment more, almost burrowing into her, before you jerk your head back so that you can look at her and gasp, “Do you know what the worst thing is?” and she shakes her head a little now, her lips slightly parted and her eyes wide and fearful about your answer, so you tell her, “It was only today, w-when it all came out,” and you pant a little now in between hard, fast breaths, “Th-that I realized I love him,” and Matilda’s breath hitches in her chest now and then you’re sobbing again, before she holds your head to her shoulder once more. 

 

And that’s how you stay like until Kurt comes back and Matilda says a gentle, “I've got to get up now sweetie,” and you see that her face is wet with her own tears for you, before she lets go of you slowly and gets up to let him in. 

 

As he comes in his dark coat rustles, before he goes across to place the bag of fish and chips down on the coffee table. The scent of it all wafts up leisurely and causes your stomach to rumble involuntarily, before he looks at you and takes in the fact that you've been crying once more. 

 

Then, “What the hell did he do to you F/N?” he asks. 

 

And you fold your arms, your eyes on your knees and hesitate a moment, before you tell him about the bet. 

 

“That”- Kurt begins, before he cuts off as Matilda places a placating hand on his arm and nods at Penny. But still ruffled, even when she lets go of him, Kurt begins to ask, “Do you want me to”-

 

“He’s out of the country,” you say evenly. 

 

“Then he better stay out if he knows what’s good for him,” Kurt bristles, before he shrugs his coat off. And then he places it on the back of the settee, goes to hand out the fish and chips and sits down beside you. 

 

Matilda draws up a chair to the side of the coffee table so that she can keep a closer eye on Penny but still be able to see you clearly. 

 

You pick at the food and even when you do eat some it doesn't taste of anything and Kurt barely touches his, his eyes on you the whole time. Then when he can take it no more he asks, “How did you find that out F/N?”

 

And the whole story comes out as if it’s a piece that someone’s told you to learn the whole day and now the hour of the recital has come and you can’t get it out fast enough. You tell them about the phone call from Sherlock, about the folder, which makes Kurt’s face pale considerably and makes him want to report Mycroft to the police, a suggestion, which you quickly shoot down because you can’t face that on top of everything else and then about how the bet had come up. And then about how angry you’d felt, how stupid and how you’d phoned Mycroft, something, which makes Kurt yell, “You did what?” in alarm and how he’d been too preoccupied in a meeting to even attempt to explain himself. That bit makes Kurt get up and leave the remnants of his dinner on the coffee table, before he paces back and for, muttering curse words under his breath. Then finally he stops and swivels to look at you, before he asks, “Are you going to call him again?” 

 

“No,” you say, and you feel certain of that, because right then what with the way Mycroft’s treated you; you have no desire to ever ring him again. 

 

Kurt nods now as if your one word has soothed him and he looks like he is calming down a little, before he says firmly, “Good. Then delete his number and all the messages and then”-

 

“It’s not as simple as that,” you tell him loudly now, your words choked a little again by your tears and you push your food away to the coffee table now.

 

Matilda jumps up and lays down her own food, before she hurries across to you and holds your hand in hers. 

 

So you swallow and then, not knowing how to continue, you just repeat, “It’s not as simple as that.”

 

“Why not?” Kurt asks, folding his arms and trying to look as composed as possible despite the fact that on the inside he’s starting to feel very scared now. For what has Mycroft done to you?

 

You let out a small breath now, but no words follow it. 

 

So, “It’s still so fresh isn't it sweetie? You just need to take one step at a time with it all,” Matilda chips in. 

 

Kurt’s brow furrows at this now, “But if she deleted everything then”-

 

“I can’t,” you interrupt, and you have no idea why you’re holding onto everything so tightly, you just know that you feel so confused about everything and you know yourself enough to know that any hasty decisions you make now will probably be regretted later.

 

Kurt though doesn't accept this and, “ _No_ ,” he says firmly and both Matilda and you look at him, whilst Penny raises her head at his tone. “I'm not going to let you fall apart because of that spineless, waste of space, pathetic excuse for a human being! I won’t let it F/N!”

 

And at his words your tears halt and begin to dry steadily on your face, whilst your heart slows down its erratic pace a little. 

 

“So,” Kurt says with determination in his eyes now, “We’re going to finish our food and we’re going to put the happiest film you have on and watch it together and then we’re all going to stay with you tonight”-

 

“You don’t”-

 

“I know we don’t have to but we will,” Kurt tells you and that is that. 

 

It takes you an age to finish the fish and chips, in fact it feels like it takes hours, but finally you do as Kurt and Matilda keep a patient eye on you. Then you all snuggle on the settee and your head rests against Kurt’s chest, whilst your eyes and ears take in the warmth and familiarity of the film. Kurt guides you to your bed at the film’s end and then he waits outside, whilst you change, before he comes to lie beside you and you snuggle into him. 

 

*

 

Mycroft lays out everything by the pond with its one goldfish. He starts with a small circle that just goes around the pond’s outskirts and then he builds it up more and more until in the end a vast space is taken up with the story of him and you. He walks in between the small space that he’s left between each section as he tries to make sense of it all. But his emotions and your voice in his head get in the way. And sometimes he has to stop and look away from it or just look up into the sky and take a deep breath to get away from it all for one second. Then he’s able to carry on meandering through it all as he searches for something without knowing what that something is. Hours later though he still feels as lost as ever and without any coherent idea of how he can possibly say enough right words to you to make you see that he does care and that he does, in fact, feel a lot more than that for you. But when he finally comes out of his mind palace, his head exhausted, to find that the light of the morning has arrived, before he has even had any sleep, he knows that whether he’s ready or not he must at least try.

 

*

 

When you wake Kurt’s head is curved above yours and you pull your head away so that his soft puffs of breath hit your face for a moment as you take in his reassuring presence. 

 

But of course Kurt, Matilda and Penny have to leave that morning to return to their lives and before they go Kurt gives you another big hug, before he pulls away from you and tells you, “You’re going to be okay F/N.”

 

“Okay,” you reply and for a moment you almost believe it, but then they’re gone and your flat is empty and quiet once more and when you sit down on the settee you feel more lonely than ever. 

 

*

 

Your phone is full of messages. Messages to tell you that Mycroft has tried to ring you five, no six times. Voice messages: “F/N, I've been trying to call you, and I know you probably don’t want to talk to me right now, but please call me or text me. I’ll reimburse whatever the cost is. I just need to talk to you. I need to explain.” “F/N? Please don’t ignore me. I know you’re angry but please just let me explain.” And text messages: **F/N? Please talk to me.**

 

**F/N? I can’t stand it being this way between us when I'm so far away from you. Please just give me a chance to explain.**

 

And then another voice message comes in: “F/N? It’s lunchtime here now. I-I know you’re probably very angry and upset with me. I know I don’t deserve any of your time. But please, if you could, if you get this, please just allow me to try and explain my feelings to you. Please just let me do that,” and you cannot see the resigned way that he disconnects the call, or the way that he lets out a soft sigh as he slips the phone back into his pocket, before his hands clutch the same hand rail as yesterday as he looks out despairingly into the abyss under the dull Brussels sky. 

 

But although you read and listen to every message you don't call him back and you don't give him a chance to explain. 

 

*

 

Sally phones that night and, worried that it might be Mycroft, you don’t pick it up the first time. But then after you check the number and she tries immediately again you do. 

 

“F/N?” she says at once. 

 

And, “Hey Sally,” you say a little apprehensively. 

 

“Oh F/N, Kurt rang and told me what happened. Do you want me to come over?”

 

“No, you’re fine, I've been in work today so it hasn't been great but…” you trail off because it hadn't been great at all. Your colleagues had asked if you’d had a good day off yesterday and you’d had to nod and lie and smile and pretend that yes it had been nice, before you’d kept your head down for the rest of the day, though you couldn't concentrate and as a result you were pretty sure that you’d made several mistakes with your work. 

 

“Oh F/N, I don’t know what to say,” Sally confesses. 

 

And, before you can help it you say a little tersely, “You could always say I told you so.”

 

“No F/N, I wouldn't do that,” Sally tells you and you can’t help but feel a little guilty now, for she’s just trying to help after all and make sure that you’re okay, before you listen as she huffs out, “I can see why you wanted to believe the best in him, that’s how you are, but”- and she breaks off now, not knowing how to continue. 

 

So, “It just wasn’t the right thing to do this time?” you supply. 

 

And, “Yeah,” she replies awkwardly, but she sounds far from happy about being proved right. 

 

*

 

The dance book that Mycroft sent you, before this all happened arrives the following week and when you get it back to your flat you tear off the wrapping, whilst you try not to look at his neat writing, before you let out a huff of frustration when you see it and then, not being able to help yourself, you throw it against the wall. 

 

Dorothea’s going past the door of your flat very slowly when she hears the loud thud. So she stops and turns towards the door and then she shuffles forwards with her one shopping bag to listen. At first she can’t hear anything. Then she hears a soft keening moan of frustration. So she asks a little tentatively, “F/N? Are you all right?”

 

Her voice makes you jump and swipe the fresh tears from your face, before you cast the dance book one last look and then leave it where it is as you go to open the door. 

 

“Oh, hello Dorothea I was just”- you begin and though you try to speak as normally as you can your voice sounds a bit weak and tearful all the same. 

 

“Come with me dear and bring whatever it was that you threw just now with you,” Dorothea says wisely. 

 

And a blush flares up on your face now, before you turn and hurry to fetch the book and then return to her. 

 

She gives it a quick look and then she nods and waits for you to lock up your flat, before you follow her silently down the hallway. 

 

Then once she opens her flat she ushers you inside, before she goes to put the shopping bag on the counter and start the tea, whilst you look around. 

 

You have to admit that you are a little surprised by Dorothea’s flat. You hadn’t really thought much about it but you suppose now that you’d expected to find a typical old person’s flat with quite dull, muted colours and photographs of family all around. Not brightly coloured beads that hang between every entranceway instead of doors, tarot cards on the mantelpiece and references to spirituality and healing all around along with a vast collection of scented candles that fill the entire place with their scent. 

 

“I’ll make some chamomile for you dear, that might soothe you,” she calls from the kitchen as her small beady green eyes swivel your way. 

 

“Oh, thank you,” you say, before you ask, “Can I help put your shopping away at all?” because you feel that instead of being nosy you should make yourself useful if you can. 

 

But, “Oh no dear, they can stay where they are, I’ll put them away later. Right now, what you can do is come over here and sit down,” she says, before she bustles over to the small kitchen table and puts your tea down there. 

 

And you slide into a seat by the table with another somewhat awkward, “Thank you.”

 

Then you lay the dance book down in front of you on the table and pick up the tea, before you take a small, wary sip. But it’s oddly pleasant and you drink a little more gratefully. 

 

Then when Dorothea joins you with her own drink [Green tea for her] she points an old, gnarled, heavily ringed finger at the dance book and asks you, “Now what’s the story of that then?”

 

You let out a little breath now and then as you stare at the cover of the book with a sudden, fierce focus, you begin to explain everything. Going right back to the start, back to the wrong number and how Mycroft had wanted to stay in touch with you. To how talking to him had been so easy and natural and how he’d made you laugh and feel safe. How you’d looked forwards to hearing from him. The despair you’d felt when he hadn’t understood your dream of becoming a writer. Followed by how he’d caught your heart when he’d told you a bedtime story and you hesitate as you tell Dorothea about this particular moment because it had felt so intimate and special and it still remains one of your favourite memories of him, but in the cold light of day you have to admit that it sounds rather silly. Still though, as Dorothea pats your hand encouragingly you think that she might understand. Then you go on and tell her about Sherlock’s overdose and again, out of a loyalty that is so engrained in you by now that it’s hard to break, you hesitate, but in the end you get it all out, even expressing how torn you’d felt after you’d learnt that Mycroft had lost his temper. Your throat’s getting a little dry by this point so you drink a little more of your tea, before you go on to tell her how you’d decided to give Mycroft another chance. It is the part after that, that you find more difficult, because again, the conversations you’d had in those months and particularly what had occurred at the fireworks display had all felt so intimate. And that is really the point when, you realize now, that your relationship with Mycroft seemed to have shifted into something else, something closer, away a little from those first days of random questions but still as playful and even bolder than the two of you had initially been with each other, almost as if you were testing each other’s limits and seeing what you could get away with, seeing where things might lead…

 

And it takes another pat on your hand by Dorothea, for you to realize that instead of telling her about these conversations and the fireworks display you’ve just been thinking about it instead and you jerk out of your thoughts now, before you say, “Sorry, I was just…”

 

“It’s perfectly fine dear,” she says, and you think she can sense that some things are too precious to even be conjured into words now, and this becomes even more apparent when she says, “But perhaps you should tell me how you came to throw that book against the wall just now?” 

 

And your face grows more serious and you look far older than you are, before you tell her about how Mycroft had gone away and found that book, Sherlock’s phone call, how you’d called Mycroft and then how, today, the book had arrived and made you feel angry about everything again. Not that, if you were being honest with yourself, you’d really stopped feeling angry about everything. But still-

 

“And was there a letter or anything with it?” Dorothea asks. 

 

“No,” you tell her as you absent-mindedly finger the book’s slightly worn cover. 

 

But, “May I have a look at it?” she asks and you nod, before you push it gently across to her. 

 

She flips it open and you watch as her eyes dart over something on the top of the title page, before her lips part and then, “Ah, I thought so,” she says. 

 

So, “What is it?” you ask somewhat cautiously and seriously as your brows furrow. 

 

Then she looks up at you and offers you a smile, before she tells you, “I thought from your description that he seemed like a man who would do so,” and still, quite naturally, you look confused, because her words make no sense to you, so she says, “Read this dear,” and now she turns the book around, before she pushes it back to you. 

 

You look at her for a moment still, before your eyes drop down to it and you let out a little breath. 

 

For Mycroft’s written a small note to you that begins at the top of the title page and spirals its way down in blue ink, and you see that his writing is neat and somewhat curly now as if he makes the most of every letter, before he moves onto the next. 

 

_My dearest F/N,_ it says,   
_You cannot know how delighted I was when I saw this book this evening. It reminded me of you at once and of course that very fact caused a smile to cross my lips immediately.  
I was even happier when you seemed to appreciate it as much as I and I hope that you get much enjoyment out of it and that it makes you think of us always.  
I must also take this opportunity to, in writing, tell you how much the contact that I've had with you over the past year has meant to me. You have brought a great sense of warmth and comfort into areas of my life that I didn't previously realize were stuck in the dark.   
As a result you cannot know how much I am looking forward to meeting you in person on my return and how much I hope that the next year will create many more pleasant memories for us.   
With much love, Mycroft._

 

As you read it the emotion grows in your chest and you let out a little jagged, uneven breath when you come to its end. You don’t look up from it though, and you don’t even realize that you’re crying again until a tear drops down from your face and lands on the book, just on the edge of a word, before its impact causes the ink to smudge slightly. So you jerk your head up from it now as you take in a sharp breath, before your eyes lock upon Dorothea’s kind, understanding face once more. 

 

Then, “Forgive me dear,” she says, before with a spark of something in her eyes she continues, “But those don’t sound like the words of a man who has no interest in you”-

 

“He’s just pretending,” you interrupt her with a slight coldness in your tone as you fold your arms across your chest. 

 

And she smiles at you a little now as if she knows that deep down you can sense that your words aren't true, and perhaps you can, but you’re not ready to face this realization just yet because it only leads to more confusion and you have enough of that already. 

 

So, “I think we both know that isn't true,” she says, and you open your mouth a little now to protest, but before you can she leans a little closer to you as if she’s about to share a secret with you and then she continues, “I think, that whatever his intentions or beliefs were to begin with about his contact with you they’re not the same now,” and once more you look like you might speak but once more she goes on, “And can you really judge him for one act that happened when he had no idea of who you were or of how important you would become to him?”

 

“That doesn't make it right,” you finally get the chance to say. 

 

“No it doesn't,” Dorothea agrees. “But I'm sure you had no idea of the direction your contact with him would take either dear,” and now she pats your hand once more, before she says wisely, “When you get to my age you learn to take time to see who the really important people are and who shouldn't be thrown away just because of one mistake.”

 

You withdraw your hand from the table now and for a moment you just shift your position as you look down at the book once more. 

 

Then, “It’s not just about that though is it?” you begin, “I mean, even if he didn't really know me at the time of the bet, whenever he got that folder on me, he knew from that moment what I looked like and he lied to me every moment after about not knowing…”

 

“Maybe he did that very early on too”-

 

“But what if he didn't?” you ask, your eyes shining with tears and worry as you look up at her.

 

And even Dorothea hesitates a moment, before she suggests, “Why don’t you go back to your flat now and think it all through dear?” so you nod a little dumbly, before you get up automatically and you almost begin to turn away from the table when she says, “Don’t forget this dear,” and you look back now to see her standing and clutching the dance book in her hands. 

 

She passes it to you slowly as if it is a most precious object and then after one last look at her you leave. 

 

Despite it still being relatively early when you get back to your flat you change ready for bed and slide into it. Then, with only the bedside lamp giving out light, you stare at the white ceiling and think about it all. 

 

Dorothea’s words about it sounding like Mycroft truly does care for you and how one mistake shouldn't define everything, especially since it took place at such an early point in your relationship, stick in your mind. And the more they stay there the uneasier you feel and the more you wriggle about uncomfortably in your bed. For the more you talk to people and the more time that passes the more complicated everything seems to be getting. And shouldn't they be getting easier as you supposedly get closer to figuring things out? Shouldn't there be a clearer path in your head by now? But instead you just feel more lost and uncertain than ever. For what if Mycroft does care? But even so that doesn't change the fact that he still only initially wanted to stay in touch with you because of a bet, you think. That doesn't change the fact that he’s lied to you for God knows how long and knowingly deceived you for at least some part of your relationship with him. That doesn't make his overall behaviour any less poor. For he still, at some points, obviously acted with less than a care for your feelings. And, “Did he really expect it to never come out?” you ask out loud now and, _‘Ah, but he didn't want to hurt you,’_ you can almost hear Dorothea saying now and, “Well he still succeeded anyway,” you retort, before suddenly realizing how silly you look talking to yourself you close your mouth with a snap. Then you turn onto your side and squeeze your eyes tightly shut with the feeble hope that, that might stop your current flow of thoughts or at least change their direction. But that is no good either, for then you can just see Mycroft’s pleading text messages to you and hear his desperate voice messages, so you open your eyes instead and pick up your phone from your bedside cabinet. There is another new voice message from Mycroft waiting there. “F/N,” he says, sounding weary and as if he might be running a tired hand across his face as he talks to you, “It’s Mycroft again, I don’t know what else I can say to you apart from repeating what I've already said. So, just in case I can perhaps impress it upon you more this time, I’d really like to talk to you. In fact I don’t think I’ll ever feel satisfied or comfortable about this situation until I do. I’d just like one chance to explain. I'm aware that I could leave a message that says how I feel, but I don’t want to do that. I want us to have a proper conversation about this, one where we can both respond to each other. Please just give me that, give _us_ that. Don’t give up on everything just because of this. I-I really miss talking to you…today was terrible…please, just, just give me a call F/N. I don’t care what time of day it is. Just call me.” And as you replace your phone back on your bedside cabinet and sink back down into your bed a little Dorothea walks back into your mind, before her voice says inside your head, _‘If he really doesn't care why is he continuing to try and get in touch with you? Why is he being so persistent?’_ and this time you can’t answer her, and so, feeling uncomfortable with the direction that your thoughts are taking you reach across and switch off your bedside lamp, before you start the night as you mean to go on by tossing and turning in bed. 

 

*

 

It is a relief to Mycroft when he finally gets to leave everything about Brussels behind and return to the same country as you. It is even a relief to get off the plane into the dull, drizzle of London and to get back to the flat to see Sherlock at his usual place by the table, which as usual is full of chemicals. 

 

After he steps inside they just stare at each other for a moment and Mycroft can tell that Sherlock is a little uncertain about how he might react to him by the way his eyes keep flicking away every now and again, whist his hands curl around the wooden block that holds the test tubes as if it is his comfort blanket. And Mycroft twirls his umbrella for a moment now, perhaps as a reaction to the sight, before he steps forwards more decisively, lays down his luggage, rests his umbrella against the wall and shrugs off his coat. Then, with his coat now over one arm, he looks back at Sherlock and says somewhat coolly, “It is good to be home brother dear.”

 

Sherlock gives a quick jerk of his head forwards now and then he blurts out, “I'm trying to find another flat.”

 

Mycroft takes a moment to take this in and then, “Good,” he says, “It will be a weight off my mind not to have to pay extra rent for the table every month,” and then when Sherlock gives a small smile at that, as if he knows that it is Mycroft’s way of saying he’ll miss him, Mycroft asks, “Where are you thinking of?”

 

“The centre of town if I can. But it’s expensive and I've got no one to share with so…” he trails off now with a shrug and Mycroft tilts his head as he considers him for a moment. 

 

Then, “Well, you are most welcome to stay here for as long as you like,” he tells Sherlock with a cool kind of politeness, before he goes to hang his coat up and take his luggage into his bedroom. 

 

But when he comes out a moment later Sherlock asks him abruptly, “Have you managed to talk to her?”

 

Mycroft swallows and goes across to switch the kettle on, before he keeps his back turned so that his eyes can focus on looking outside the window instead of having to look at Sherlock, who has turned in his seat with a creak to look at him. Then, “No, she isn't answering any of my calls,” he admits with regret in his voice, before he goes on to confess, “I rather think that whatever there was between us is over,” and he turns away from the window to look at Sherlock now. 

 

“So you’re just going to give up?” Sherlock asks him a little incredulously. 

 

And, “No,” Mycroft replies, before he supposes, “But there is rather little I can do if she won’t talk to me.”

 

“You could go and see her,” Sherlock tells him and Mycroft does not reply to this, he just turns once more and sets about making the tea instead. 

 

For of course he has thought of this. In fact it was something he pondered over during most of his flight back to London. And something he had not decided whether he should do or not by the time the flight came to its end. For it is clear to him that there are some points both for and against it. Of course the main reason for doing so would be to see you, and if you allowed him to do so to talk to you, in person, about the whole matter. Whilst a reason for not doing so is the fact that you might not be alone and he has little desire to meet your brother right now. Of course he could always lurk somewhere close by or watch CCTV from somewhere until he could guarantee that you were alone, but he instinctively senses that you’d disapprove of either of these things and he is wary of giving you any more reasons to not stay in touch with him. Then, of course, there is always the fact that you might not, even then, want to talk to him-

 

“You’re scared,” Sherlock announces and Mycroft’s hand ceases in its move to pick up the kettle, which has just boiled, before he turns to him once more. Then when Mycroft just raises an eyebrow at him Sherlock continues, “You’re scared that she’ll reject you.”

 

Mycroft bites his lip for a moment and turns his head away. Then, not wanting to admit the truth in his brother’s words, he abandons the tea altogether and walks out of the flat. 

 

He lets his body do the walking and doesn't try to control his destination with his mind. But inevitably he ends up standing a bit back from the block of flats that you live in, whilst his eyes gaze up at it as he wonders which window’s yours. 

 

Then a moment later he hears footsteps stop slightly behind him and so he says, “I think this is the furthest I can go right now.”

 

“If you could go any further what would you say to her?” Sherlock asks evenly as he steps beside Mycroft now. 

 

And Mycroft half-turns his head in acknowledgement, before his eyes find the flats again. Then, “I’d tell her that I'm sorry, that I never meant to hurt her, that my feelings changed so quickly that there is barely a moment during our entire contact where I have not cared for her, and perhaps I would tell her that…” and unable to go on he trails off now. 

 

“That you love her?” Sherlock supplies.

 

And Mycroft inclines his head a fraction now, before, “Yes,” he agrees. 

 

For a moment nothing else is said between them and they just stand there in a companionable sort of silence with Mycroft’s eyes still resolutely fixing on the flats, whilst Sherlock’s eyes observe his brother’s face and take in all the emotion there. 

 

Then, “I'm sorry,” Sherlock blurts out. 

 

Mycroft swallows, before he tears his gaze from the flats and looks at his brother, then, “I know you are,” he replies, before he goes back to looking at the flats once more. And Sherlock doesn't expect him to speak again so soon but then he murmurs, “You have spoilt perhaps the best thing that has ever happened to me,” before, resigned to doing nothing more that night, Mycroft begins to turn and walk away. 

 

Sherlock follows him at a cautious distance a moment later. 

 

And as their backs are turned you shift out from where you've been peering at them from behind your curtains to the centre of the window so that you may watch them properly. You are not certain that it is Mycroft and his brother, but something instinctively tells you that it must be, and the realization, as you watch the bright, evening light glint off Mycroft’s auburn hair, only causes your heart to sink further. For what are you supposed to do now? And why, upon getting so close to you, did Mycroft choose to leave? And a sigh escapes your lips now, before you turn away from the window and try to find a distraction good enough to get your mind off everything.


	7. Running Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or the one where a plan is formed and put into action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, wow, every single one of you reading this fic is amazing! I can't believe this fic has now got 52 kudos! :O Thank you so, so much for all your support! Hugs to you all! :D
> 
> And now without further ado:

It is weird how easy it becomes when you’re caught in indecision to stay that way as each day passes. How easy it becomes to just drift through each day in your new routine of waking, going to work, going to the supermarket or straight back to your flat where you will while away the evening by watching TV or reading, before you go to bed and then repeat the same cycle the next day. Of course there is the odd occurrence like Kurt ringing one, bright Saturday at the beginning of April to ask if you want to join them in the park, and of course even though you feel particularly tired and a little down about everything that day he won’t take no for an answer so you end up going and enjoying yourself in spite of everything anyway. Or like when Sally rings to pester you to go to an actual dance class, which you don’t do because anything related to dance still reminds you of Mycroft. Or when Matilda arrives unexpectedly one day by herself to talk to you and tries to encourage you to get out and meet people. Something again, which you don’t take up. But mostly it is the same routine that you find yourself trapped in, day in, day out. Although of course you don’t really notice that you’re trapped in it because every day just drifts by and although you know that you should probably have a bit more variety in your life there’s something comforting about the routine, not to mention safe. With the most dangerous thing occurring being the odd text or voice message you receive from Mycroft. He doesn't call or text you every day any more. And you can’t help but wonder if, perhaps soon, he won’t bother at all. Such a prospect both makes you feel relieved in one sense and hollow in another. For the fact that you might not get sudden reminders of everything any more and that you might, albeit tentatively, be able to move on is good, but the fact that, that means he’s given up on you makes you feel rather miserable. For you’re still not certain of whether you've been doing the right thing by ignoring him and not giving him a chance to explain as everything still feels so unresolved between you. But at least this way you’re protecting yourself from further harm. It is odd though how, even now, weeks later since you heard them; Dorothea’s words still catch at your mind sometimes. And make you wonder what _if_ …what if Mycroft really does care? What if you’re being too stubborn about this? What if you’re the one ruining your relationship by not getting in touch with him? But even when those thoughts come to the forefront of your mind you end up pushing them away and end up slipping back into what your day to day life has become. Sometimes at night though, when you can’t slip away quite so easily from it all you end up tormenting yourself about it until you cry and sometimes you’re even able to admit to yourself that you _do_ miss him. Sometimes you even decide that the next day you’ll ring him and just hear him out because what harm can that do after all? But you always lose your nerve by the morning and you always end up pushing whatever thoughts you had that night into a box in your mind where it stays locked up until you unpick it all over again the next night. 

 

*

 

Sherlock is getting fed up of this. Of watching his brother go to his room to phone or text you just to come out a moment later and shake his head, his shoulders heavy with a weight that they have been carrying for far too long. Of all the little sighs that come from nowhere when his brother broods in the armchair every night. Of all the little hopeful looks that he sends his phone when he thinks that no one can see him. Of all the words that he can sense are filling Mycroft’s body but never filling it quite enough so that they actually come out. And of all the silence, for Mycroft speaks little now and when he does he is often a little short-tempered and abrupt. 

 

Sherlock has even noticed that Mycroft’s been putting on weight so one night he says, “She won’t want you if you’re fat,” in the hope that this might finally snap Mycroft out of his slump. 

 

But, “She doesn't want me anyway,” Mycroft says with a reluctant sort of acceptance in his voice. 

 

And that’s when Sherlock decides that he’s had enough and that whether you want him or not Sherlock will at least get you somehow to talk to Mycroft, even if it is only so that you can both move on with your lives. So, like Mycroft does whenever Sherlock’s bored, Sherlock begins to come up with a plan. 

 

It doesn't take long until he’s noticed though, for, “What are you thinking about?” Mycroft asks him from the armchair, before as Sherlock turns his head slowly to look at him he goes on to explain, “Not so long ago you were clattering about with those chemicals and I was fully prepared not to hear anything else until I went to bed. But now you've gone all still and you've got that look upon yourself as if you’re thinking very hard about something.” 

 

And Sherlock gives him a small upward quirk of his lips now because he can see how this will play out at first. But even so he says, “I was actually. I was just deciding that I've had enough of all your sulkiness and that as I don’t want you to gain any more weight, because at this rate you’ll need a crane pretty soon just to get out of the flat,” and Mycroft pulls a face at this exaggeration now, “I thought I’d help you.”

 

And as Sherlock knew he would Mycroft jerks a little upwards in the armchair, before he splutters, “I don’t need your help with my love life Sherlock!”

 

But this does not put Sherlock off and on the contrary his smile only grows at Mycroft’s words. So, “At least you admit that, that’s what the problem is here,” he says in a soft voice as he sounds pleased and Mycroft’s lips grow even thinner. “And you do,” Sherlock continues and Mycroft raises an eyebrow at him now so Sherlock tells him, “Need my help. Because if you are ever going to get over this then you at the very least need the chance to talk to her. Correct?”

 

“I suppose so,” Mycroft replies a little stiffly, for the direction of this conversation and the idea of giving Sherlock so much control, when it is his fault that he is in this mess to begin with, makes him feel uncomfortable. 

 

“But,” Sherlock says and now he raises a finger as if to further impress his point and something in Mycroft sighs, “You haven’t had any luck by calling or texting her so far, so it stands to reason that you need to do something different.”

 

“Such as?” Mycroft asks tentatively, and part of him, he has to admit, is holding his breath now on the off chance that Sherlock has come up with the perfect solution. 

 

“I don’t know yet,” Sherlock confesses and Mycroft lets out a little disappointed breath, “But I know that to make it work I’ll have to get to know her better through you, and that it has to be something big and something that she can’t ignore.”

 

*

 

**25th April**

 

You know what day it is, of course you do. That’s probably why ever since you got up there’s been an uneasy and almost queasy feeling inside you and why you struggled through work, only to come home and find yourself too tired to even make dinner. So instead, because the first anniversary of your contact with Mycroft seems determined to not go by unnoticed, you just curl up on the settee with a blanket and switch the TV on via the remote. But you haven’t even decided on what trashy thing you should watch to alleviate your mind a little when something is pushed through your letterbox with a clunk. 

 

So your head spins around now because unless it is another takeaway flyer you rarely get anything, and especially not at this time of day. Then you push the duvet gently off you and as you stand up, at first, you think from its small, square size that it is another takeaway flyer, but then as you approach it slowly you realize that it isn't. In fact it’s a postcard. 

 

So you pick it up and turn it both ways. But aside from someone having scribbled the address of a café that is located on the other side of the park along with the ominous words, _‘6pm. Don’t be late!’_ in handwriting that you don’t recognize there is nothing else, not even a picture on the front. And you frown at it now, though you can’t help but feel curious too. Then you look at the time. It is 5:35 on the dot and to get to the café on time you’d have to leave in the next minute or so. You feel a little hesitant about going though. For you don’t know whom the message was from after all. Whatever would Kurt say?! But, you think, as an old spark of the old you returns for a moment, you could just wander in that general direction and keep an eye out for anyone who the note could be from. You could even just go past the café a couple of times, whilst you keep an eye out. That way you wouldn't even have to go inside the café at all if you didn't want to!

 

So, making your mind up now, you nod and switch the TV off, before you slip into some flat shoes, grab a loose jacket, which you put on and run a quick brush through your hair and then you head out. 

 

On your way you pass Dorothea in the hallway and she stops as you reach her and asks, “Oh F/N dear, how is everything now? Did you”-

 

But, “I can’t stop now, I'm in a bit of a rush,” you say and just saying those words and having a sense of purpose and a definite sense of somewhere to be makes you smile a little and square your shoulders, before you quicken your pace. 

 

As she watches you hurry off Dorothea can’t help but feel satisfied. So satisfied that when she gets back to her flat she lights an extra scented candle in your honour, before she says a little message of good luck and healing for you. 

 

When you get to the park you begin to slow down your pace a little so that you can take in your surroundings more. It is a dry but dull kind of day, though the sky is admittedly more white than grey, and although there is a slight breeze in the air that whispers its secrets as it snakes its way in between each blade of grass the conditions are pleasant enough to be walking about in. And you walk through the majority of the park, before you cut across the grass to the closest side entrance and step out onto the slightly damp pavement. Your heart jumps a little in your chest when you see the café across the road. Then you take a bit of a breath, before you slip across the road as casually as you can. As you do so you take in every person that you can see close by but none of them mean anything to you, and it is only when you peer into the café a little nervously that a voice calls, “F/N!” and your heart jumps again, before you step inside the café as Sally stands up from a table and waits for you. There are two pieces of red velvet cake on the table and two teas and you stare at them for a moment, before you look up and say, “Hi Sally,” and although there is no question there your tone is questioning and a little apprehensive nonetheless. 

 

“F/N hi,” Sally says, before she leans across the table to hug you now to try and put you at ease, but she can feel how tense your body feels underneath her hands so she decides to get straight to the point by saying when she lets go of you, “You got my message?”

 

“That was from you?” you ask now, before you attempt to explain your surprise by adding, “It didn't look like your handwriting.”

 

“Oh,” she gets out as she sits down now and gestures for you to do the same, which you do a little hesitantly, your back now to the door of the café, “I think its been getting worse for years,” she explains, before she goes on hurriedly, “I just thought it’d be nice to get you out of your flat for something other than work y’know? And I thought you might find the postcard a bit more exciting than just a call from me.”

 

“I did,” you say at once with a bit of a smile, before you realize how pathetic you sound so the smile slips from your face, then, “ _God_ , I'm so lame if I find something like that exciting,” you say.

 

Sally frowns now and her eyes avoid yours for a moment as she takes a small sip of her tea. Then as she lowers her cup back into the saucer her eyes flick to yours once more as she admits, “And actually I did want to talk to you too.”

 

“If it’s about the dance lessons then”-

 

“No, no F/N it’s not about them,” Sally begins and she sounds like she doesn't quite know how to continue now, but then, “Actually,” and she swallows now, “It’s about how sad you've been this past month since…”

 

And your body tenses up again now, before you look down at your cake, eat a bit of it with your fingers and say with a bit of a shrug, “I'm trying,” and already you feel a bit teary, but you’re fed up of crying, so when a couple of tears escape your eyes, before you can help it, you swipe them away with the back of your hand angrily and tear into your cake. 

 

“I know you are,” Sally says earnestly, before she goes on, “And I know I haven’t been the biggest supporter of Mycroft and I know that because of that I'm probably the last person that you want to talk to about him, but I have to ask, do you miss him F/N?” and now her hand finds the top of your free hand on the table. 

 

You know what your answer is straight away but it doesn't exactly make you feel either happy or strong so you hesitate for a moment and then bow your head slightly as you say, “Yes.” Then you jerk your head up to look at Sally whose eyes are filling with sympathy for you, before you add angrily, “And I feel so stupid about it because I don’t _want_ to miss him, I just want to hate him and move on from everything.”

 

“Then maybe,” Sally begins tentatively, and her eyes tell you quite clearly that she doesn't really believe that you want to hate Mycroft or move on from the situation at all and that rather it’s just what you think you should do, “You should talk to him.”

 

“I don’t know,” you shrug, then, “I've thought about it,” you confess, “But I don’t even know where to start with it all any more, it’s all such a mess…”

 

“Then maybe you could just listen and let him start it off, whilst you think of what you want to say yourself?” she suggests. 

 

But you shrug again and tug your hand out from underneath hers and let it drop down to your lap, before you ask, “Why are you encouraging me to talk to him anyway? You hate Mycroft.”

 

“I do,” Sally nods, before she goes on, “But I've seen how sad you've been since you haven’t been talking to him and how unhappy you are and maybe, if it’s still affecting you this much after all this time, then something needs to be done about it.” And when you don’t say anything but just look at her she tells you after a bit of a sigh, “All I know F/N is that something about him made you happy and that I haven’t seen you that happy since all this came out. So as much as I hate the guy the one thing that I can’t hate about him is the way he made you smile and the way he made you so happy whenever you talked to him.”

 

But, “I don’t know,” you say, whilst you avoid her eyes. 

 

And, “I can’t decide for you,” Sally says, “But I think there’s someone outside who’d like to talk to you now.”

 

Your heart jumps a little in your chest as you turn both your body and head quickly expecting to see Mycroft there. Expecting to see him standing a little back from the window with his hands perhaps in his trouser pockets as his blue eyes look longingly at yours. But Mycroft isn't there. Instead your eyes come to fix on Sherlock, who stands half-turned away from the window with one hand in his coat pocket, as if he has been alternating from looking through the window at Sally and you and looking out across the street. And you know he’s waiting for you so you get up and barely give Sally a backwards glance as you drift automatically to the café door. 

 

From her place at the table though Sally smiles. For she knows now, having seen your eagerness to see if Mycroft was there and having seen the way your shoulders slumped a little when he wasn't, that everything will be all right now.

 

“Sherlock?” you ask softly as you come to step to the side of him. 

 

And his body turns fully towards you now, before he makes a satisfied noise in his throat as he looks at you. Then, “You must be F/N?” he says, and his voice sounds unusually gentle as if he can sense your nerves. Or perhaps he just knows that if he doesn't treat you with care now then Mycroft will definitely kill him. 

 

So, “Yes,” you nod as you wipe your slightly clammy palms onto your jeans, but despite the way your heart is jumping anxiously in your chest and how nervous you feel you try to maintain eye contact with him nonetheless. For this might be the man who threw a grenade into your life with one phone call but this is also the man who composes music for the violin. You aren't afraid of him. 

 

“Then, in that case, I’d appreciate it if you could listen very closely because I'm about to tell you something very important. Several important things actually, and it would be a shame if you missed any of them or if I had to repeat myself,” Sherlock tells you very quickly, but very clearly and precisely and you roll your eyes a little because his flair of drama has reminded you of Mycroft being dramatic about Sherlock’s behaviour last August. 

 

But still, “Okay,” you say and he nods at you. 

 

Then, “What I'm about to say involves my brother as you've probably guessed,” Sherlock informs you and you nod because actually you _had_ guessed. So, “My brother has always been a little uptight and extremely ambitious. And I think, before this past year, before _you_ ,” and now he nods at you as if to give credit where credit is due, “I’d started to see him as largely only being those two things. I had started to think that he was a very cold, unsentimental being. And I'm not saying that he’s stopped being those things because of you, because he hasn't,” and your heart can’t help but sink a little now, “But over this past year he has shown me other layers of himself, layers that I think, if it weren't for you, might have stayed hidden in the dark forever,” and your mind drifts now to Mycroft’s note in the book, whilst Sherlock purses his lips a little, then, “I caught him smiling when he received a text from you,” and you let out a little breath now, “That was the first time, I think, that I realized the impact you were already having on him. He was so happy whenever he heard from you. He took to calling and texting you as if it was something that he needed to do to get through his day, as if it was something that he couldn't bear to be without. And whenever you would fall out he’d be miserable. So you cannot imagine the impact that not talking to you for over a month has had on him F/N L/N because he loves you and he is nothing without you,” and your heart jerks a little in your chest now as Sherlock pauses for breath. Then, “If you don’t believe me then listen to this,” he says now, and he draws out a small recording device from the pocket of his coat. 

 

He presses play a second later, whilst his blue eyes are very serious as they latch onto yours firmly and you take a small breath as you hear the slight crackling and the slight sound of footsteps. 

 

Then, “I think this is the furthest I can go right now,” you hear Mycroft’s voice say and your heart jumps slightly, before you shiver a little. 

 

“If you could go any further what would you say to her?” you hear Sherlock ask now, and your heart begins to quicken its pace in anticipation of the answer, whilst your eyes are not on Sherlock now, but somewhere off to the side of his shoulder as they focus on the side of a building further down the street. 

 

Then, “I’d tell her that I'm sorry, that I never meant to hurt her, that my feelings changed so quickly that there is barely a moment during our entire contact where I have not cared for her, and perhaps I would tell her that…” Mycroft says now and when no more words come from him you look to Sherlock for reassurance that this isn't the end, that there is more, and he looks at you, whilst his eyes urge you to be patient. 

 

And then, “That you love her?” the Sherlock in the recording asks, and you are barely breathing now, your breath jagged and uneven in your chest, your head almost dizzy then-

 

“Yes,” you hear Mycroft say and something seems to explode in your chest now and suddenly it is as if you know, as if the fog has cleared at last and one path just stands in front of you as clear as day, and so you place your hand on top of the one of Sherlock’s that’s holding the recording for a moment, before you take it off once more, and seeing the change in your eyes he fumbles to switch it off hurriedly.

 

Then, “Where’s Mycroft?” you ask him a little breathlessly and a gleam of something sparks in his eyes. 

 

But for a moment he doesn't reply and you just stare at him with an urgent expression on your face as you will him to reply. Then, “He’s gone home,” Sherlock tells you and your breath falters in your chest a little now, before your brows furrow, because why has he gone home when all this is happening? And you look at Sherlock now for further explanation but then it hits you and as Sherlock sees the wave of understanding crossing over you he presses something into your hands. 

 

You take it, looking at it only long enough for you to see that it is a blank CD that has been placed inside a small, protective wallet and then your body turns instinctively and you begin to run. 

 

You tear across the street, barely faltering as a car screeches to a halt to accommodate your sudden appearance, before you dart back into the park, running as quickly as you can through it and dodging every other person as if it is something you were born to do until you burst out onto the pavement once more. 

 

As you get to your block of flats you expect to see Mycroft standing where you saw him that day with Sherlock. But he’s not there and you come to a little sudden halt as you pant a little breathlessly. Then you twist your body and head around this way and that as you look for him desperately but you don’t see a glimpse of anyone tall with auburn hair anywhere. 

 

You think for a moment more and then you realize that he’ll probably be waiting for you outside your flat door, so feeling annoyed with all the time that you've wasted you hurry forwards, flying through the hallways and up all the stairs, but when you get to your door he’s not there either and you feel almost tearful now. For have you misunderstood everything? Did Sherlock think you’d understood but really you hadn't? And now you won’t see Mycroft tonight after all? And your heart sinks because you don’t want to go back inside your flat without having spoken to him. You don’t want things to return to your boring daily routine. You don’t want to just float along any more, whilst you push something, _someone_ so important aside. So you run a frustrated hand through your hair now as you look down each end of the hallway with the desperate hope that Mycroft might be walking towards you. But there’s no one there. And for the longest of moments you just swallow, look around and wait. But minutes pass and still there’s no one there and you don’t know what to do. Should you try and phone him? And you huff out a little frustrated breath now because you've gotten _this_ close to seeing him again and finally talking about everything and now everything seems to be falling apart. Where’s your Fairy Godmother when you need one? Or at the very least Sherlock to tell you what on earth you’re supposed to do now. And you look around again. But still there’s no one there. And you know that you can’t stay out here all night both looking and feeling lost. So you try and pull yourself together a bit now. In the end you decide that you have two choices. You can either go back to the café and hope that either Sherlock or Sally will still be there to guide you. Or you can go inside your flat and phone Mycroft, before these feelings inside you fade, and at the very least arrange to meet him, if not tonight, then sometime very soon. Tomorrow, perhaps. 

 

So, making up your mind, you nod and get out the key to your flat. Then you unlock the door and step slowly inside. Everything’s pretty dark now and your furniture is mostly covered in shadows. But for some reason the lamp by your CD player, directly opposite the door is on, giving out a soft glow and you frown at it. Then your eyes catch sight of a figure standing off to the left hand side and you jerk backwards, before your back digs harshly into the door as your breath catches tight in your chest. Then for a moment you just stare and breathe and slowly as your eyes take in the figure more your breathing calms down a little because you realize whom it is. 

 

Mycroft, looking tall and elegant in a black suit and a white shirt with a red tie stares at you, his blue eyes gleaming a little in the soft light as they drink you in with a cautious gentleness. And it is like he is seeing you for the very first time as he realizes now that the photographs of you and that seeing you from a distance at the firework display didn't do you any justice. For you are more beautiful than he could have ever known. And as he looks at you he is barely breathing, for his whole body feels tentative and wary of making any sudden movements just in case he frightens you off. But then as he sees your breathing begin to become more even, even though your lips are slightly parted as you look at him, he feels that he is safe enough to extend one arm out towards you and say, “I can teach you how to dance now.”

 

So you take a couple of stumbling steps towards him now, your body moving automatically, your eyes still on him. 

 

But then he says, “Ah, I see you have bought the music. Please go and put that in your CD player first. My brother would be most cross if we didn't use it now.”

 

And for another moment you just hold his gaze, then you turn away from him as you go across to the CD player. Very slowly you take the CD out of the plastic wallet and pop it inside. Then once everything is set up you press play. 

 

A soft violin begins to play and instinctively you realize that it is Sherlock playing a song that he has composed for Mycroft and you.

 

Then Mycroft clears his throat and you turn your head to look at him. He’s shifted his position so that he’s turned towards you once more and once more his hand is extended towards you. 

 

You look at it for a moment and take in the long, slender fingers. You think that it might be the most beautiful hand that you have ever seen. And then, feeling as if you are in a dream, you go across slowly and take it with your own. Both of your breaths hitch slightly as your skin meets for the first time and then you look up at him and see that he is casting you the tenderest look imaginable. And you realize that even though he looked beautiful from a distance with his long, sweeping frame he looks even more beautiful up close. His eyes turn a dark blue as they look at you and his auburn hair shines in the light, which makes his entire face seem softer and less defined. Then he turns his hand in yours so that his arm brushes against yours, before as your breath hitches once more in your chest he places a hand delicately on your waist. It is the lightest of touches but it seems to make your whole body very much aware of its presence all the same. Then slowly, to the beautiful song that Sherlock has composed for you, you begin to move together. Your free hand comes up to curl around his shoulder and he tilts his head towards it for a moment in a sweet gesture, before he straightens it again and his eyes fix on yours once more. Your movements together are slow and gentle as you take in the feel of each other for the first time and the song is so beautiful that it requires little else. Every now and again the music rises up a little, almost in a little echo to whenever your phone would buzz or ring and signal Mycroft’s presence at the other end, and it stirs such emotion inside you that you feel that if it weren't for Mycroft’s steady presence and the warmth of his hand on your waist, that you might cry because of it. 

 

As the song goes on, much like a metaphor of your relationship with each other, the pair of you grow bolder. Mycroft’s hand rests more firmly on your waist, whilst every now and again his eyes dart to your lips and your hand slips down to his chest for a moment, before it climbs back up to his shoulder again. And the thrumming energy between you that began the very moment you took his hand with yours grows and grows until with a flair of drama Mycroft dips you as the song comes to a close. 

 

For a moment the pair of you are just suspended there and his soft puffs of breath leave his slightly parted lips to hit your face as his blue eyes hover just inches above yours, whilst you stare up at him in wonder, completely entranced by him. 

 

Then you are pushing yourself upwards with his hands supporting your back as you do so, before you are pushing against him and fisting his shirt with your hands to pull him down a little so that your lips can join for the first time.

 

He lets out a little breath at the force of you, before his hands slip to your waist as he kisses you back eagerly. 

 

You notice that he tastes faintly of whisky and something expensive, whilst he recognizes at once the taste of the red velvet cake upon your lips. 

 

And then you are both gasping and groaning as the kiss grows more passionate and your hands leave his shirt to run through his hair and cup his face, whilst he pushes you ever so closer to him. 

 

When you finally pull away a little from each other you are both panting and breathless, your lips are swollen and he’s wearing a slightly dazed look upon his face, which makes you smile slightly. Then your foreheads rest against each other’s, whilst you clutch at the front of his shirt once more and he holds you in his arms. For a moment all the pair of you can hear is the sound of each other breathing and then he pulls his head back so that he can look at you properly, before he says, “F/N, I…” and you stare at him in wonder now as tears slowly leave his eyes and curve down his cheeks.

 

Then slowly you raise your hand to brush away his tears with your fingers, before you cup his cheek. 

 

His breath shudders in his chest at your touch and you can feel the vibration of it run through you.

 

Then, “You have no idea how grateful I am for you, I love you F/N,” he says, his eyes wide and desperate as he tries to make up for all the hurt that he’s caused you. 

 

And, “I love you too,” you tell him gently, before you run your hand up through his hair and then lean forwards to kiss him tenderly on the lips. Then when you pull back once more he’s smiling as if he can’t quite believe what is happening so that encourages you enough to say, “Dry your eyes Mycroft Holmes, I believe we need to sit down.”

 

He smiles even more at that and then he lets out a breathy kind of laugh, which makes you kiss him quickly again, before, “Okay,” he says, and you take his hand in yours now, before you lead him across to the settee, switching off the CD player on the way. 

 

But then you freeze and your heart jumps because there is a manila folder on the coffee table. 

 

His eyes fill with concern as you do so and he steps forwards a little so that he can follow your gaze, before he says a little tentatively, “It’s not what you think,” but as you let go of his hand his heart sinks, whilst his mind worries that he’s messed everything up again. 

 

Then you bite down on your bottom lip, before you turn your head to look at him as you ask him, “How long have you known what I look like?” whilst your heart beats unevenly in your chest.

 

He hesitates a moment, but then knowing that everything rests on him being honest right now he admits, “Since Sherlock got ill,” and you open your mouth and run a hand through your hair as you take it all in so he takes a step forwards and you look at him as he goes on, “That’s no excuse I know, but I was stressed and”-

 

“Then why didn't you just talk to me about what was happening sooner?” you interrupt him now. “If you’d told me about Sherlock as soon as he got ill then I could have helped you, we could have even met up then…I could have supported you…”

 

But, “You were being so guarded with me,” Mycroft reminds you, before as your eyes flash a little angrily he raises his hands in supplication and goes on hurriedly, “I'm not saying it was your fault. I'm just saying that as soon as I realized that Sally had been poisoning your mind I knew I couldn't talk to you about it. And then, when I did get in touch with you again, I was so relieved that you were willing to carry on talking with me that I couldn't very well”-

 

“What? Be honest with me? Because I think that I would have preferred one difficult conversation with you then to this alternative of finding out about everything you've been keeping from me all at once!” you snap now as angry tears roll down your face and Mycroft takes a step towards you now, before he stops and holds his hands up in supplication again when you step back and fold your arms tightly across your chest and look down at the floor, whilst you breathe hard. 

 

And as Mycroft, with his arms now back down by his sides, looks at how angry and upset you are it is hard for him to believe that just a few moments ago you were kissing him. So, for a moment, not knowing what to do for the best, he just watches you, then, “I was scared,” he confesses and you look up at him now, “Of telling you, of how you’d react, of everything, but most of all of the feelings I have for you…” and he trails off now as he looks away from you for a moment, then he looks back at you and asks, “Can I show you that folder now?” and he nods to the folder on the coffee table, “It’s not the one from before, I got rid of that one, but I wanted to make another one for you”-and he falters a little as your gaze turns a little sharp now, before after swallowing he continues, “One that would show anyone who looks at it, that would show _you_ , how you look through my eyes.”

 

Then, “Okay,” you say as evenly as you can, but he can tell that you’re still not sure about it and that knowledge makes him wish that he’d never brought it and that he’d never trusted Sherlock’s idea to make it in the first place. 

 

And he watches as you go across now and switch on the light so that the whole room is lit, before you go past him to switch off the lamp and then go to sink down on the settee. Then he goes across with his heart racing from everything in his chest, pries the folder tentatively from the coffee table and sits down beside you. Then with the manila folder now resting on his knees he looks across to you but you’re not even looking at him, you’re just staring at the TV although your eyes are slightly glazed over and he feels sure that you’re not really seeing it. And so, not sure what to do, he taps your knee gently with his hand. 

 

Slowly you look at him and the uncertainty pooling in your e/c eyes makes him blurt out, “I'm sorry, I should never have brought it, I don’t know what possessed me to do it, it was stupid…”

 

You bite at your lip again, then, “Can I see it?” you ask him as you reach a hand out and with his heart jumping uncertainly in his chest and his eyes on you he passes it to you slowly. 

 

You open it hesitantly, whilst you bite your lip. There are a lot of papers inside it and you take them out, before you place the now empty manila folder back on the coffee table and then turn to the papers that are now resting on your lap. 

 

The first one is blank but for one word that is printed across its middle in bold, black letters: **Playful** it says and you smile a little now, before you turn to the next one. **Intelligent. Funny. Warm. Comforting. Reassuring. Kind. Sarcastic. Determined. Ambitious. Beautiful** , the last one says and that one is underlined twice and your breath hitches a little in your chest now. 

 

Then as you get back to the beginning Mycroft, who has been watching you carefully the whole time places a gentle hand on your knee, before he lets go of you when you turn your head to look at him and murmurs, “There’s one more,” and now as you lay all the papers back down on the coffee table he reaches to the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a folded sheet of paper from where it was resting close to his heart. Then he hands it to you and your eyes flicker up to his, before you take it from him slowly. 

 

For a moment you just let it rest in between your hands on your lap as you stare down at it, whilst your body faces straight ahead. Then with slightly trembling fingers you unfold it. And as you read his beautiful words in his poem to you tears begin to slide down your face once more, your fingers tremble and your mouth gasps a little, whilst there is a rawness in your throat by the time you finish reading it and look back up at him. 

 

As you do so he tells you, “When you phoned, that day, I should have run out of the meeting. I should have called you straight away. I don’t why I didn't, I just”-and he breaks off now to grab your hand in his and the poem slides off your lap onto the floor, whilst you look away towards the table as he continues, “I just didn't know what to do. I couldn't think straight about it all for ages. I just knew that I had to keep trying to get in touch with you and when, when I flew back here I was so relieved in one sense because I thought that maybe, with us in the same country at least, things might get easier. But they didn't. You still wouldn't answer my calls and I started to think”- and now he breaks off again to lift your hand up in his so that he can study your fingers for a moment, before he goes on, “I thought that might be it. I was determined for it not to be. But I really thought”- and his voice cracks a little now, “I really thought I’d lost you F/N,” and you turn your head to look at him now and your breath catches tight in your chest as you realize that he’s crying again. “And I hated myself,” he confesses to you a little angrily now, “For messing everything up, for not being able to get through to you, and I know tonight doesn't change what I did. I know it can’t make up for how foolish I was. But, I hope,” and he lets go of your hand now as he pulls himself together more and swallows, “That it might go some way in showing you how very sorry I am.”

 

You turn your head away from him now and a small laugh escapes your lips. For despite what he’s done and how angry and upset you still are about it all you know one thing now, for definite, that you can’t ignore. So as his brows furrow because he doesn't understand what’s funny you ask him, “You didn't hear what I told you earlier, did you?” as your eyes latch onto his once more and a small fear grabs hold of Mycroft’s heart. A fear that in any moment you’ll make him leave and tell him that you never want to see him again as he does so. 

 

But, “I said I love you,” you tell him, and even now you can still see the uncertainty in his eyes so you go on, “I didn't just say that to be nice, I said it because that’s the way I feel and the way I think I've felt for a very long time about you,” and you pause for a moment, before, “Didn't you notice the way I kissed you earlier?” you ask now and when his eyes dart down, in spite of himself, to your lips you give him a small smile and a light flush dusts its way across his cheeks as he looks at your eyes once more and realizes that you know where he just looked. Then, “Maybe you need a little reminder,” you tell him now and his lips part a little, but he cannot speak so he just lets out a little breath instead. Whilst his eyes never leave you as you turn towards him as far as you can, and then because you still can’t reach him from this angle and he seems too frozen in his place to meet you halfway you let out a small, tentative breath, before you lean across so that your body is half-draped over his and cup his face with your hands. Then you kiss him softly. As he responds you slip your hands to his shoulders, pushing him down a bit and shifting your position so that you’re straddling his hips as the kiss deepens, whilst his hands move to your waist. And as you kiss him you try to put every time he made you smile or laugh, every time he comforted you and made you feel good, every time you felt grateful for him and every time he made you fall in love with him into it. Then when you pull away from him, panting a little with all the exertion from everything you were just trying to tell him without words, he trails a hand through your hair, before he brushes his fingers against your cheek gently, wonder in his eyes. 

 

So, “Mycroft Holmes I love you and I forgive you,” you tell him, and you can feel his breath hitch in his chest at the sound of them so you kiss him gently again. 

 

Then, “F/N?” Mycroft asks a little breathlessly once you pull away and start to clamber off him a little so you turn your head to look back at him. 

 

And, “Yes?” you ask him and he begins to open his mouth, but before he can speak you point a finger at him and warn him, “Don’t start crying again.”

 

He lets out a little chuckle now, before, “I wasn't going to,” he tells you, and something about the way he says it makes you give him your full attention, even though you are caught in a kind of ridiculous position, half-bent above him with one leg still bent in between his, the other bent slightly but with the foot at its end on the ground at least and one of your hands clutching onto his shoulder to steady yourself, whilst the other hovers just inches from his chest. “I was going to tell you thank you,” and he pauses for a moment now, before he adds, “For everything.”

 

And you smile a little now, before your gaze drops down to his lips and then to his chest. Then you lower your hand a little so that you can run a finger down his tie, before you look back at him and say, “You’re very welcome.”

 

He lets out a little breath at the same time as your eyes flash with fear, for it has suddenly hit you how fast things seem to be spiralling between Mycroft and you already. And shouldn't they be going slower? You wonder now. Shouldn't you be trying to protect your heart more? Especially after what happened. So you clamber off him properly now, before you turn your back on him and walk a couple of steps away. 

 

His hand slips around your waist a moment later and, “F/N?” he asks you gently, his eyes showing some concern. 

 

And, “I'm sorry,” you tell him, “It’s just that for so long nothing was happening and now it’s like everything is…I think I just need to take a moment to breathe.”

 

Mycroft takes his hand off your waist now and you wish he wouldn't. Then, “Do you want me to leave?” he asks. 

 

And, “No,” you say, because you don’t want that either, before you turn to him and continue, “I know it’s getting late but do you think you could just stay a little while longer?” but then, before he can even open his mouth to reply you feel a little uncertain about your words so, “I mean you, you don’t have to, you've probably got”-

 

“I haven’t got anywhere I would rather be right now F/N,” Mycroft tells you now and you let out a little breath of relief. 

 

Then, “Right, good,” you say, whilst you fidget with your hands a little and don’t look at him. 

 

And he smiles at you now, before he takes your hands in his and bends his head slightly so that he can kiss you on the forehead. Then, “I believe you once told me that your perfect Valentine’s Day would include some, ahem, snuggling on the settee,” and a little snort leaves your mouth now at the sound of his voice saying ‘snuggling’ so he looks at you fondly, before, “Would you like to do that now?” he asks you. 

 

You can’t help but smile at the very idea, before you reply, “Okay,” and he lets go of one of your hands now so that he may lead you across to the settee once more. 

 

You sink down onto it together, before you sink down a little further to rest your head upon his chest, whilst he holds you close with one arm.

 

Then, feeling the happiest and most content that you've felt for over a month, you close your eyes. 

 

When you wake it is to find yourself stretched out across the settee with the duvet that is usually on your bed over you, and to see that Mycroft is now sat on the floor beside you, his eyes gleaming a little as they look at you as the only light comes from the lamp by your CD player once more. 

 

Then, “I wasn't sure whether to carry you to your bed but I thought I might disturb you,” Mycroft tells you gently as his hand reaches for yours once more. 

 

But, “It’s okay,” you tell him with a little, sleepy smile and it hits him suddenly that this is maybe what you looked like during the first time he told you a story, and for a moment he can’t quite believe that he's actually getting to see that actual expression on your face rather than just imagining it, before, “How late is it?” you ask him. 

 

And, “It’s not late at all if you consider how early it is,” he tells you with a teasing smile, before, “It’s coming up to a quarter-past two.”

 

“What?” you breathe now, before, “Shouldn't you”-

 

“Quite possibly,” Mycroft interrupts, answering your question, before you can even fully ask it. Then he continues, “But I found it quite impossible to leave you without saying goodbye.”

 

So, “I think you just liked watching me sleep,” you tell him now in a teasing tone. 

 

And, “That too,” he says lightly. 

 

Then, “Will you disturb Sherlock if you go back this late?” you ask him. 

 

And, “Oh no,” Mycroft says, before he muses, “In fact I think he’ll probably be wide awake still”-

 

“Wanting all the juicy details,” you cut in and he smiles now. 

 

Then, “Yes,” he agrees, before he stands up a little reluctantly and you sit up a little now so that you can look at him properly.

 

Then, “Will I see you tomorrow?” you ask him. 

 

His smile grows now, before, “Yes, tomorrow and every other day until you get sick of me.”

 

“I could never get sick of you,” you tell him and he looks pleased. Then, “Goodnight,” you tell him. 

 

“Goodnight F/N,” he replies. Then he comes to kiss you on the forehead and before he can pull away completely he murmurs, “Sweet dreams.”

 

You lie back down on the settee and close your eyes, before he lets himself out. His face burns before your mind and you smile, before all too soon you fall asleep again and dream of Mycroft and you dancing with each other on the grass outside Kurt’s house once more.


	8. Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or the one where Mycroft meets Kurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, wow, thank you all so much for your continued support! :D I'm delighted that you enjoyed the previous chapter and hope that you will also enjoy this one. :D

The next morning you wake up with a smile on your face, and it only grows when your phone buzzes and you pick it up to see: **Good morning F/N.**

 

 _Morning_ , you text back, before you push the duvet off you properly so that you can swing off the settee, but despite feeling a little stiff and tired from sleeping there your mood doesn't dip, not even slightly. Then you can’t resist sending: _How was Sherlock when you got back last night?_

 

 **He took one look at me and then he looked immediately smug, before he turned back to whatever he was pretending to do with the chemicals as he waited for me to come home. Then he told me that whilst I didn't have to thank him it would be appreciated.**

 

You grin at that because you can imagine the little roll of his eyes that he would have sent it with. Then, _So did you?_ You send. 

 

 **Hmmm?**

 

_Thank him?_

 

 **Oh yes. At least I think that was what I said, before I asked him what experiment he was working on.**

 

You chuckle now. 

 

**That rather threw him off guard and I must have looked rather pleased with myself for he snapped, ‘Oh don’t pretend that you don’t know that I've been waiting up for you.’**

 

_At least he was finally honest. I've got to get ready for work now but I’ll see you later?_

 

 _I finish at five, just so you know._

 

 _So come over at five past five? No, seriously though, just come over when you’re finished at work or a little after._

 

**Seven?**

 

 _That sounds perfect._

 

**In that case then I’ll see you then. Have a nice day F/N.**

 

 _You too,_ you send, before you put your phone back down on the coffee table so that you can hurriedly change. 

 

And you’re almost ready, you just need to slip your shoes on and brush your hair when there comes a tap on your door so your brow furrows a little, before you hurry across in a bit of a flustered state to answer it. For at this rate you’ll definitely be late to work. 

 

Then you pull the door open to see Dorothea there. 

 

And, “Oh hello dear,” she begins, looking pleased to see you, “I was hoping to catch you, before you left for work.”

 

“Yes I”-

 

“I was walking down the hallway last night, I have trouble sleeping you know, and so I go for a walk most nights and I couldn't help but notice a man coming out of your flat around a quarter-past two. I was just wondering was that him?”

 

You blush furiously now, before you barely look at her as, “Yes,” you get out, and then you force your eyes to look at her as she lets out a bit of a delighted gasp, before you continue, “He, um, he came around last night and we, well, everything’s sorted out now…” and you trail off, blushing still, as you fidget with your hands a little nervously.

 

But, “Oh that’s wonderful news,” she says, nodding at you now as her eyes sparkle in delight, before she goes on, “Oh I was so hoping it was him, you know, because after you and I bumped into each other last night I was wondering, oh how wonderful dear.”

 

And you can’t help but grin now, before she turns and shuffles off back towards her flat. 

 

*

 

You get a message from Sally when you’re on your morning break. 

 

 _I take it everything went well last night then? If the smile Mycroft was wearing as he came to see my boss was anything to go by?_

 

 _Yes_ , you send back, because really there is no need to add anything else as that says everything, whilst your heart jumps a little and you smile a lot at the thought of Mycroft being happy because of last night. 

 

But of course, _Well talk about leaving me in suspense F/N! The next time we get to talk properly, which will be very soon by the way, I’ll be wanting details. Lots of details. Okay?_

 

 _Sure_ , you reply with the same smile on your face, before you quickly send, _I need to thank you by the way. And also ask how on earth Mycroft and Sherlock managed to persuade you to do that for them??_

 

Sally remembers it now. 

 

It had been a cold sort of evening and she’d just stepped out of the police station from the main doors when she’d faltered. 

 

For Sherlock had been stood there smoking and his head had turned to her at her hesitation. 

 

Then, “Sally,” he’d nodded at her.

 

And, _“Freak,”_ she’d said coolly in return, before she’d made to walk away. 

 

But, “Wait,” he’d said, and so she’d turned towards him. Then, “How long have you been friends with F/N for?” he’d asked her, and she’d folded her arms then as she’d stepped closer towards him. 

 

Then, “Years,” she’d told him guardedly. 

 

And, “I suppose you've noticed a difference in her in the last month then,” Sherlock had said conversationally, though on the inside he’d felt a little cautious. 

 

So, “Yes I have,” Sally had said in the same tone as earlier, before she’d felt angry about it all so she’d said more heatedly, “And you can tell your brother that”-

 

“You can tell him yourself,” Sherlock had interrupted her, and Sally had given him a puzzled look so he’d nodded at the space behind her shoulder and so she’d unfolded her arms and whirled around, before her breath had caught slightly in her chest as she’d seen Mycroft stood there.

 

As she’d looked into those blue eyes again her mind had darted back to that almost dark night when she’d seen Mycroft as he’d confronted Lestrade. But they had been cold then, whilst on this day they’d held something desperate in them instead. 

 

But still, she’d felt threatened all the same with both brothers either side of her and so she’d thrown a cautious glance over her shoulder at the police station. She’d hoped that maybe Lestrade would be looking out of the window. But there hadn't been anyone there so she’d just looked back at Mycroft instead. 

 

And he’d read her expression easily with a cool smile, before he’d said evenly; “I'm not going to harm you right in front of the police station.”

 

“Forgive me if, considering that it didn't exactly stop you with Lestrade before, I don’t believe you,” Sally had retorted coolly and then she’d folded her arms again. 

 

Then, “I need your help,” Mycroft had confessed and Sally had actually laughed then, which had caused Mycroft to look regretful as Sherlock had finished his cigarette and crushed it beneath his heel. 

 

So, “Why on earth would I help you?” Sally had asked. 

 

“F/N,” Sherlock had said. 

 

And Sally had turned to look at him then with her eyebrows raised, before, “Excuse me?” she’d asked.

 

“F/N,” Sherlock had repeated, before, “She’s the only reason you’ll help us,” and he’d stepped a little closer to her then, before he’d gazed at her intently as he’d said, “But what a reason it is, wouldn't you agree Sally? And what a nice thing that would be, wouldn't it? If you were able to help the woman you've been friends with, for years? If you were able to perhaps put a smile on her face again?”

 

“She wouldn't need helping if it wasn't for you!” Sally had exclaimed as she’d swung back to face Mycroft and he’d nodded at her in acknowledgement. 

 

Then, “No she wouldn't,” Sherlock had said practically into her ear, and Sally had started then, before she’d turned her head to look at him suspiciously, “But what has happened has happened, and if you want the old F/N back then you need to help us,” Sherlock had told her. 

 

Sally had thought about it then, but when it came down to it she’d really had no choice so, “What do I need to do?” she’d asked heavily. 

 

Back in the present Sally comes out of the memory now and sends, _It was all for you F/N_ , before she sends shortly after, _Don’t forget to tell Kurt as soon as possible okay? I think he’ll need a bit of time to get used to the idea._

 

And your face changes completely now. For you’d completely forgotten that you’d have to tell Kurt. And how on earth are you going to do that?

 

*

 

When Mycroft gets home Sherlock is sitting by the table. But this time he’s not doing any experiments. He’s on the phone to someone and looking very smug indeed. 

 

And, “Ah, here he is now,” Sherlock says as Mycroft takes his coat off and puts down his umbrella and briefcase, before at Sherlock’s words Mycroft looks suspiciously across at him. Then, “Yes, of course, bye then,” Sherlock says now, before he stretches the phone out towards Mycroft who goes to take it, and as Sherlock mouths, ‘Mummy,’ at him Mycroft’s heart does a little nervous dance in his chest. 

 

But, “Hello Mummy,” he says as pleasantly as he can down the phone nonetheless. 

 

And as soon as she hears his voice she emits a high-pitched squeal down the phone that causes Mycroft to scrunch up his face slightly, before, “Oh, Mikey,” she says and the way she says it makes Mycroft immediately blush now. 

 

But, “Please don’t call me that Mummy,” he reminds her, not for the first time. 

 

“Oh but it’s so wonderful,” she says, before she launches into full Mummy interrogation mode, “Why didn't you tell me about her before? You must tell me everything about her Mikey, oh, when can I meet her?”

 

And Mycroft shifts his position now as he tries to both ignore the smirk that Sherlock’s sending his way and deal with the question at hand. Then finally he confesses, “It’s early days Mummy, I don’t want to scare her off.”

 

“I'm going to pretend that I didn't read anything into your last comment”- Mummy begins, her voice sharp now and a horrified Mycroft exclaims at once, “ _Oh!_ I didn't mean”-

 

“But you love her?” she interrupts.

 

And, “Yes,” he replies in a small but sincere voice as his face burns and Sherlock’s smirk just grows and grows and Mycroft dearly wants to throw something at him. 

 

“Then that’s wonderful Mikey,” she says.

 

And, “Thank you Mummy,” he replies, before as soon as he gets off the phone a moment later he groans, “Oh, why on earth did you have to tell her so soon Sherlock? I’ll never hear the end of it now.” 

 

But, “Like you really care about that,” Sherlock tells him with that same annoying smirk all over his face. 

 

And, “I can confiscate your chemicals you know,” Mycroft tells him.

 

And, “I’d like to see you try,” Sherlock retorts, before content with everything they both smirk at each other.

 

*

 

You've put it off as long as possible. You thought that when you came home with your stomach churning that you might call Kurt straight away to get it over and done with. But somehow you’d found ways of putting it off through having dinner and pretending that yes, you really needed to tidy up your flat a little, before Mycroft comes, despite the fact that he’d been there yesterday. But now at quarter-past six and with Mycroft’s appearance at seven o’ clock looming you know that you can’t really afford to put it off any longer. So tentatively you go across to stand by the small table and pick up the phone slowly, your heart already beating anxiously in your chest as you dial the number and then wait. 

 

It seems to ring forever and then, “Hi?” Kurt’s voice comes at the other end and your heart skips a beat. 

 

Then, “Hi Kurt, it’s me,” you say.

 

“F/N! How are you? Is everything all right?” he says at once, as usual asking too many questions in his worry for your well-being.

 

“Um, I'm good, really good actually,” you tell him, before you decide that you might as well get straight to the point by telling him, “But there’s something that I need to tell you.”

 

And you can hear him taking a little breath at the other end now, before, “Okay,” he says as evenly as he can, but you can tell that he’s bracing himself for whatever’s coming. 

 

So, “I saw Mycroft last night and um, well, I've forgiven him for what happened and we’re, well, we’re going out now.”

 

Silence meets your words and the only reason that you know that Kurt is still even there is because you can hear his slightly uneven breaths at the other end. 

 

Then finally he says, “I…I thought you might end up talking to him again at some point, you've been so sad after all…but, but F/N are you really sure about this? I mean starting a relationship like that after what he did to you?”-

 

And, “Kurt?” you interrupt him.

 

So, “Yeah?” he replies softly, his voice full of concern for you, but you can tell that he’s trying to hold himself back as much as he can because he’s frightened of driving you away again. 

 

“You’re just going to have to trust me on this,” you tell him, before, “Mycroft’s shown me that he’s sorry and I've accepted it. He’s told me that he loves me and I've told him that I love him,” and you can hear Kurt suck in a breath at the other end now. 

 

Then, “Don’t you think it’s a bit soon to be saying stuff like that to each other? Why can’t you just be friends right now until you get to know him better and then”-

 

“But I _do_ know him Kurt,” you protest, and you can hear him sigh a little at the other end, “And I _do_ love him,” and you can almost see Kurt flinch at the other end. 

 

Then, “How do you know that you’re safe with him though? After what happened before”-

 

“By _trusting_ him,” you tell him in a pleading tone, “By trusting that he’s sorry and by trusting that he means it when he says he cares and loves me.”

 

There’s another silence and you can tell that Kurt isn't satisfied and that he still doesn't trust Mycroft with you, and you suppose, when you look at it from his point of view that you can’t blame him really. For here’s this guy who made his sister so upset and withdrawn from life for over a month after all, and now suddenly he’s somehow going out with her. 

 

And, “I want to meet him,” Kurt says in a firm voice and you know that whatever you say to this there’ll be no getting out of it. 

 

*

 

After you get off the phone with Kurt you still have fifteen minutes, before Mycroft’s due round so you spend that time sitting on the settee a little restlessly, whilst you fidget with your hands and worry about how you’re going to tell Mycroft that Kurt wants to meet him. 

 

Then at seven o’ clock precisely there’s a knock on the door and you go across hurriedly to answer it. 

 

Mycroft stands there looking smart in a dark suit, white shirt and gold tie and holding a dozen pale yellow roses in his hands. 

 

His eyes light up as he sees you, before, “It struck me today,” he says as soon as he sees you, “That I never asked you what your favourite flowers are, and obviously I couldn't ask you today as that would have given the game away.”

 

But, “I love them,” you tell him. 

 

And, “Good,” he replies, sounding pleased as he steps into your flat and you close the door behind him. 

 

Then, “They reminded me of you,” he tells you once you're both sat down on the settee and the roses have been placed in a transparent vase on the coffee table, which also now boasts two glasses of red wine, and when you look at him you see that his eyes are looking at the roses thoughtfully, “When I saw them they reminded me of all the light that you've brought into my life.”

 

And you can’t help but smile in a pleased fashion now, before, for something to do and in the hope that it will help to perhaps calm you down so that Mycroft won’t think you terribly weird, you reach for your wine and take a sip of it. Then as you smile with your lips close to the rim of the glass you tell him, “You don’t have to keep apologizing you know.”

 

And, “I know,” Mycroft tells you and he looks at you now, before, “But I think for a while longer at least I will,” he says, and that makes you smile again, before you put your glass back down on the coffee table. Then, “I must confess actually,” Mycroft begins, and you look at him a little sharply now, worry in your eyes, so he shifts a bit closer to you, trying to reassure you with his presence, before he goes on somewhat tentatively, “Mummy knows about us. Sherlock called her this evening, before I got home. I spoke to her briefly and she’s very happy about it all.”

 

 _“Oh,”_ you say, and you let out a breath of relief now, but he doesn't comment on it, and then because it is the right time to do so you confess, “Kurt knows too,” and as a worry gleams in his eyes you take his hand in yours, before you explain, “I thought I better phone him. I didn't want him finding out from anyone else or something like that.”

 

Mycroft twists your hand in his now so that he can study the way that your hands look joined together, and then he looks at you once more, before he asks as evenly as he can through thin lips, “And was he… _accepting_ of the fact?”

 

You hesitate a little now and you sense that he's probably got his answer by the time you say, “He’ll get there,” before you plunge on, “He wants to meet you though.”

 

And Mycroft takes his hand away from yours now, before the sight of his knees seems to suddenly fascinate him. 

 

And you can see that he’s already beginning to worry and brood about it all so you lean across slightly so that you can kiss him on the cheek in the hope that, that will snap him out of it. 

 

It does and a small smile crosses his face as he turns his head to look at you. 

 

Then, “I know it will be awkward and that it’s probably the last thing that you want to do, but I'm beginning to think it’s probably best to do it as soon as we can. That way at least it’ll be over and Kurt might actually calm down a bit once he sees you.”

 

“And if he doesn't?” Mycroft can’t help but ask delicately, before he adds more heavily, “I don’t want to fight with you over your brother F/N.”

 

You snuggle into the side of him a little now and put one hand over both off his, which causes his eyes to widen slightly, before another smile crosses his face and then, “I know you don’t,” you breathe, before you ask, “Can we just try it? And not worry until we have to?”

 

And “Okay,” he murmurs, before he turns his head to kiss you with a sneaky suddenness and your breath hitches in your chest a little because you don’t think that you'll ever get used to the fact that you can kiss this man any time you please now. Then you let out a little breath as he bites down on your bottom lip, before his tongue slides into your mouth. You twist your body even closer to his and one of your hands goes behind you, so that you are clinging onto the settee by the tips of your fingers, whilst the other reaches up and struggles to find purchase on anything until he guides it with his own hand so that it comes to rest on his tie. Then when his hand stays over yours there you pant a little into his mouth at the sensation of having his chest jerking slightly beneath you and his hand above yours pushing it down. And the kiss lasts a fumbling few seconds more, before you draw a little away from each other with a bit of a gasp. As you do you notice that Mycroft looks distinctly more ruffled than he did when he came in and as a satisfied gleam fills his eyes as they roam over you, you can tell that you’re a bit messier too. 

 

And because you can’t go long with him looking at you like that, before you feel the need to talk you reach across to smooth down his tie a little, before you say, “So, I mean, obviously you can come around here whenever you like, but could I possibly go to your flat some time? I’d really like to meet Sherlock properly and to you know, thank him for the song and everything.” And you didn't expect there to be a problem with such a request but something flickers in Mycroft’s eyes, before he shifts away from you and turns his head away. So you frown, before, “Mycroft?” you ask softly. And though his head moves slightly at the sound of your voice he still doesn't look at you, and though his lips part a fraction as if he would dearly love to try and explain himself, or at the very least say something, no words escape him. So, “What is it?” you ask him a little fearfully and you move a bit closer to him now so that your leg brushes against his, before you place your hand on his. 

 

And he swallows and bites at his lip a little, before he makes up his mind and looks at you. Then, “We might be brothers,” he begins, “But Sherlock’s…well, you saw him at the café…” he says and he trails off now for the panic that had clenched around his heart just last night has returned to him again, along with all the fear and uncertainty, as have the images that had sprung up in his head. Images that depicted Sherlock and you talking outside the café and you becoming more and more entranced by him, not just by his words and confident manner, but by his looks, those wild, dark curls, multi-coloured eyes and striking cheekbones, before you forgot about Mycroft altogether and decided that you liked Sherlock more. Perhaps you would have made some playful remark such as, ‘I wish you had been the one calling me instead of him,’ and Sherlock, no doubt, would have been thrown a little, but his loneliness would have ultimately helped to seal the deal. And then, then you would have run off together and Mycroft would have been left there, waiting at your flat, for God knows how long until he finally realized that there was no one coming, before with a sigh he would have slipped back out with nothing but the lonely, cold spring air to accompany him back home. 

 

You still don’t understand, but even though the emotions you catch flickering in his eyes make you feel scared, you ask him as encouragingly as you can, “Sherlock’s what?”

 

And his blue eyes fix steadily on you now, before, “He’s probably the more typical person that someone like you would go for.” 

 

And you freeze up a little now, before you withdraw your hand from his, then, “Someone like me?” you manage to get out questioningly, but there’s a thin veil of anger there too. 

 

And Mycroft huffs out a little frustrated breath now, before he waves his hands a little as he leans back and says, “You know what I mean. You’re beautiful and he…isn't he like the princes in fairy tales?” and you feel a bit sick now as he looks at you, before he goes on somewhat bitterly, “Tall, dark and handsome?” as he flicks out his fingers as if checking a check list. 

 

Then, “Well the only fairytale I want to be in is one where the prince is tall, _auburn_ and handsome,” you growl out now and the fierce conviction in your voice makes Mycroft’s expression change to one of astonishment, before a tiny smile forms, in spite of himself, on his face at your words. But, “I can’t believe you really think that I’d run off with Sherlock,” you huff out now incredulously and Mycroft pales a little, then, “Have I not been the one talking to you this whole time? Did I not tell you that I loved you last night? Have I not shown you that the only man I could ever be interested in is you?” you ask. 

 

And, “I-I'm not”-

 

“I know you’re not,” you huff out, for you _do_ know that he’s not getting at you, “I just can’t believe that you’d actually think that by meeting Sherlock properly I’d forget all about you,” and you grab his hand now, before you rub it soothingly with your thumb as, “Who told me I was beautiful on Bonfire Night? Who soothed me by telling me the beginnings of a most beautiful story? Who listened to me complain about the most silly things? Who made me laugh? Who made me smile? Was that Sherlock? Because I don’t think it was,” you say and then you move both of your hands to tug his jacket straighter, before you smooth it down. Then you look back into Mycroft’s eyes and you only catch a brief glimpse of the loving look that he’s sending your way, before his lips are on yours and he’s mumbling, “Thank you,” fiercely in between kissing you. 

 

“You’re welcome,” you get out a little breathlessly once he’s pulled away from you and he smiles a little more confidently, before he runs his hand through your hair and down the side of your face, a look of wonder in his eyes as he does so. Then, “Does that mean I can go to your flat at some point?” you check. 

 

And, “Yes,” Mycroft breathes, but you can tell that he still feels a little anxious about the whole thing so you lean forwards to kiss him again. 

 

His hand reaches to cup your cheek and yours goes to his back, whilst the other two find each other and as they link Mycroft smiles a little into the kiss, whilst you release a little breath into his mouth. And you've just shifted even closer to each other and he’s just bitten down on your bottom lip again when there’s a tap on the door. 

 

So you pull away from each other hurriedly with a bit of a gasp and Mycroft’s hand slides down a little, before it freezes somewhere by your chin, whilst your brow furrows. 

 

Then, “Do you think that’s”-

 

“It won’t be Kurt,” you tell him, before your heart shifts a little uncomfortably despite your words and you get up slowly. 

 

“Do you want”-

 

“Just stay there for a moment,” you advise him and he nods, but you can see the worry in his eyes so you trail a hand across his shoulder, before you take a little breath of courage and go across to open the door. 

 

Thankfully it’s not Kurt but Dorothea standing there. 

 

And, “I’d like to invite you both for a cup of tea at my flat in ten minutes,” she announces, and you have no idea how she knows that Mycroft’s there, but then again as you remember your rumpled appearance it’s probably not a big leap.

 

So, “Okay,” you say and that is all you can get out, before she turns and shuffles off again. 

 

So you close the door with an amused smile, before you go to sit down by Mycroft again and say as you do so, “It appears we've been invited over for tea.”

 

“So I gathered,” Mycroft replies, but you can see the questioning look in his eyes so as you shift closer to him once more and put your hand over both of his again you explain, “She lives just down the hallway. She comes across as being a bit eccentric but she’s all right actually,” and your face becomes more thoughtful now as you add a little hesitantly, “She said a lot of sensible things to me when we, when we weren't talking.”

 

And Mycroft turns one of his hands now so that he can curve it around yours gently and your breath hitches a little in your chest, before he looks into your eyes and says lightly, “It appears I owe her a great debt then.”

 

“Perhaps you do,” you agree in a murmur, before you kiss him gently. 

 

But you pull away before he is satisfied and he tries to re-join your lips again but, “Dorothea,” you remind him, before he can. 

 

So, “Dorothea,” he says in a small little puff of breath, before he smiles at you. 

 

And you grin a little now, before you let go of him and stand up. Then you stretch out a hand towards him, which he takes as he stands up. 

 

And it is odd to leave your flat with Mycroft. Odd to lock it up with him right there, his hand moving delicately towards your waist once more. Odd but so nice and definitely something that you could get used to, you think, as you walk down the hallway together, a little smile on your face as Mycroft’s arm stays around your waist the entire time as if there might be monsters trying to take you away from him even in that short distance. 

 

And when you get there Dorothea lets you both in with a knowing, “I think that was more than ten minutes dears, but I won’t tell anyone,” and a wink, which almost makes the laughter that you have bubbling up inside you erupt out, whilst Mycroft’s eyebrows go the highest that they can possibly go and a light blush dusts his face once more. 

 

Then she ushers you both to sit beside the table and as you do, with Mycroft looking exceptionally out of place, you can’t help but look at him and wonder what he is making of this bizarre flat and what he has deduced about Dorothea. 

 

But, “Hmmm,” Dorothea utters, and your head jerks up to look across at where she is standing by the kettle now to see that she is assessing Mycroft thoughtfully. Then after a moment she announces, “I’ll make some earl grey tea for you dear.”

 

And, “That sounds most delightful,” Mycroft replies pleasantly. 

 

Then, “I’ll make you a normal cup of tea dear,” she tells you, before she adds, “Since you don’t look like you need calming down today,” and you blush so furiously now that you lean forwards slightly and bow your head so that Mycroft can’t see your face. 

 

But, his eyes alight with concern for you, he reaches to rub your knee reassuringly with his hand, before he says, “F/N told me that you were a good friend to her when I couldn't reach her. Thank you for that,” and Dorothea turns her head slightly to nod in acknowledgement at his words. 

 

Then a moment later as she turns away to carry on making the tea once more Mycroft lifts his hand off your knee, before he reaches up to tilt your chin gently upwards so that he can look into your eyes and make sure that you’re okay. 

 

Before he can quite complete the process though Dorothea has turned once more and so he lets go of you, but he continues to look into your eyes to corroborate that you’re okay as Dorothea places both your cups of tea down on the table. 

 

Then you nod at Mycroft and say, “Thank you,” for the tea to Dorothea. 

 

And she says, “It’s not a problem dear,” before she sits down opposite both Mycroft and you and Mycroft moves a little closer to you now so that his leg is resting against yours, before he takes one of your hands in his underneath the table. 

 

So you swallow and there is a moment of awkwardness now, for neither Mycroft nor you are sure what to say at the way that Dorothea is staring at the pair of you across the table. 

 

Then, “She came to me all a mess, did she tell you?” Dorothea says in between drinking her tea and you wish she wouldn't, whilst Mycroft’s hand rubs at yours as reassuringly as he can underneath the table, then, “The tea calmed her down a little, as did talking about you dear, and I think the note that you sent in that book helped too,” and Mycroft’s hand stops rubbing against yours now, for he’d forgotten about the book he’d sent you all together, whilst your heart skips a beat as you lift your head to meet his gaze tentatively. 

 

Then he looks at you for a moment, and knowing that you both need to get out of there you groan a little and it is so convincing that Mycroft’s expression actually changes to one of concern, so you nearly laugh and give the game away, before you look at Dorothea as you clutch your stomach a little with your free hand and say, “Actually I don’t feel all too good, I think I better go back to my flat and take something for it, perhaps lie down a little too.”

 

And you begin to get up now with Mycroft in full-on concern mode by your side, clutching at one of your hands still, whilst the other goes to your waist to support you and he even goes so far as to say, “I’ll make you a hot water bottle.”

 

And, “Oh yes, hot water bottles, you’ll have to get used to those,” Dorothea begins and Mycroft pauses in helping you now to look at her as she goes on, “I expect you've never dealt much with women going through their monthly cycles before, have you?” and you blush furiously and Mycroft’s face pales considerably, whilst his eyes look slightly terrified now because this is _very_ new territory for him. 

 

So, almost dying of embarrassment, you call, “Bye Dorothea,” hurriedly, before Mycroft and you stumble out of the flat. 

 

Then, “F/N? What’s wrong?” Mycroft says as soon as the door closes behind you. 

 

But, “I'm fine,” you tell him, before at his confused expression you add, “I just had to get out of there,” and you begin to walk down the hallway now with Mycroft trotting after you to keep up. Then you stop outside your flat, turn to him and say, “I'm sorry, I don’t know why she had to say those things and…I don’t know why I reacted like that”-

 

“Because it still hurts?” Mycroft suggests and your eyes lock onto his now, whilst your heart feels a little afraid that this means you won’t be going out with him any more and that maybe you’ll have to do as Kurt suggested and stay friends until-

 

Mycroft takes your hands in his now, and then as your eyes still fix on his he goes on, “It’s bound to still hurt F/N. Last night was nice and so was most of this evening, but I don’t expect everything that you've been feeling in this past month to just disappear because of it.”

 

And you open your mouth now a little dejectedly but, “One day it will be gone,” Mycroft assures you, “Until then we’ll just have to take everything as slowly as we need to, okay?” and he squeezes your hands now. 

 

“Okay,” you tell him with a small smile.

 

Then, “Have you looked at the dance book yet?” he asks you. 

 

And you bite your lip for a moment now, before, “Not since it came,” you confess and Mycroft nods now, knowing that everything will take time. 

 

Then, “I think it’s best that I go now,” Mycroft says, and although you open your mouth to protest you know inside that he’s right and that you both need your own space to think about things after all. 

 

So in the end you just close your mouth and nod.

 

And Mycroft kisses you on the cheek, before he leaves you and walks off down the hallway.

 

You unlock your flat once he’s vanished from sight and then when you step inside it you sigh a little at the sight of the still two half-full wine glasses on the coffee table.

 

Then as you sit down on the settee to take a small sip from yours it occurs to you that although last night felt like a happily ever after it wasn't, and there is still a lot of hard work in front of you, before you get there. 

 

*

 

It is Saturday and Sherlock is trying to sit by the table and concentrate on his chemicals, but he can’t seem to do anything successfully because Mycroft keeps flitting past him one way and then the other in a panic. 

 

So finally Sherlock takes off his protective goggles, throws them down on the table and growls, “Why on earth are you even trying to clean our flat?”

 

And Mycroft stops and swivels towards him, a can of polish in one hand and a cloth in the other, before he exclaims in exasperation, “Because as I have repeatedly told you F/N is coming around this evening,” as if his behaviour is perfectly rational. 

 

But, “Has she never seen a dirty flat before?” Sherlock asks him now and before Mycroft can answer he goes on, “Has she never seen a piece of dust? Is her flat so clean and spotless that you feel the need to compete with ours?”

 

And Mycroft’s mouth moves a lot now but no sound comes out. Then finally he splutters, “It doesn't matter what her flat looks like Sherlock, what matters is that she’s coming around here, and you’ll have to stop whatever you’re working on I'm afraid, I need that table clear.”

 

Sherlock wrenches his mouth open now, before, “Why?” he exclaims. 

 

And Mycroft draws himself up a little as he explains, “Because for once Sherlock I want to actually eat by the table. I will not make F/N eat off a tray on the settee,” he finishes firmly. 

 

And to him everything is most clear but Sherlock’s brow furrows, before he asks, “Again _why_? I think she’d much prefer the settee than the table”-

 

But, “This is not up for discussion,” Mycroft interrupts him, before, “As you have reminded me in the past _I_ am the one that largely pays the rent so when I tell you to clear the table you will do as you’re told,” and Sherlock scowls now, but Mycroft doesn't give him any chance to answer back, for he walks away to carry on with his cleaning. 

 

Sherlock though literally digs his heels in and doesn't even move from the table, let alone make to clear it. 

 

An hour later dinner is in the oven and you are due at any moment but the table is still not clear and Sherlock is sure that Mycroft is on the verge of having either a heart attack or a nervous breakdown. For he keeps taking a couple of steps away from the kitchen area towards him, before he huffs out a breath or runs a frustrated hand through his hair and then changes his mind and goes to do something else. One time he got so fixed on Sherlock being still by the table that he took his usual couple of steps forwards, before he forgot that his hand was still encased in the slightly faded pink oven mitt [a gift from Mummy] and started to run it through his hair, before he realized with a jolt what he was doing and stopped the action at once. Sherlock had, had to snort at that. Then there was the moment when Mycroft went to get changed and put some cologne on; only he ended up putting so much on that when he came out of his bedroom Sherlock got hit head-on by the aroma and just managed to choke out in between coughing, “ _Christ!_ Do you-want-the whole-of-London to-be able-to-smell you?” And naturally he’d gotten a very disapproving look from Mycroft at that. 

 

The doorbell rings now and Sherlock sniggers when Mycroft jumps and when his hand darts up to his hair, before he hurries to check himself in the mirror one last time. He turns this way and that and fidgets a little with his tie-a blue one today-before he takes a bit of a breath, smoothes himself down one last time and then begins to stride across. 

 

And he’s almost at the door when he remembers something and so he turns back to look at Sherlock once more, before he says pleadingly, “Be nice Sherlock,” and then he doesn't give Sherlock the chance to do anything more than pull a bit of a face, before he opens the door. 

 

“F/N, you look lovely as usual,” Mycroft remarks as soon as he sees you standing there, before he bends to kiss you on the cheek and Sherlock rolls his eyes, before with a bit of a smirk he looks down at his chemicals once more. 

 

“Oh, hi,” you say, feeling suddenly flustered because the sight of Mycroft not wearing a jacket and with his sleeves slightly rolled up does that to you apparently, before you swallow and then continue, “I wasn't sure what to bring but I thought wine might be appreciated,” and you hold up the bottle of red wine that you've brought with you now and Sherlock rolls his eyes again. 

 

Mycroft however is more polite and so he says, “It definitely will be, thank you,” before, “Please come in,” and he steps aside now, and although Sherlock can feel your eyes go to him at once he keeps his head down. 

 

But Mycroft clears his throat so after another small little roll of his eyes Sherlock does as his brother wishes and looks up at you. Then, “F/N,” he nods at you. 

 

And, “Sherlock,” you nod back, before you bite down on your lip a little because something about your exchanged nods just makes you want to giggle.

 

“Let me take that from you,” Mycroft intervenes and he takes the wine from you now and goes to place it on the counter, ready for later. Then when he turns back to you he notices that you’re looking around with a small smile on your face so, “What is it?” he asks with a bit of confusion in his tone, whilst he hopes that he hasn't done anything wrong already. 

 

And, “Oh,” you say as you look back at him, “It’s nothing really, but when I was trying to imagine what your flat looked like it was, well, a little messier than this,” and Sherlock snorts now, before he hurriedly turns it into a cough when Mycroft throws a dark look his way. 

 

Then, “Well, I might have spruced things up a little bit,” Mycroft confesses softly as he looks at you once more and you bite down on your lip again to keep your giggle from escaping. 

 

So, “Just a little bit?” you ask him teasingly now and he looks away from you with a small smile. 

 

And you so badly want to go over there now and kiss him on the lips and ruffle up his tie, but Sherlock’s already got a funny look on his face as if there’s a bad smell in the room so you take a little breath instead and fold your arms. Then you wander across with the full intention of joining Mycroft by the counter. 

 

But as you go past him Sherlock quips, “Thank you for wearing only a light perfume,” and you halt in your tracks now, whilst Mycroft bows his head and puts a hand to his forehead as he leans against the counter resignedly, before Sherlock’s eyes fix on you as he goes on, “If you’d worn as much as my brother then we would have had to open a window,” and he turns to look at Mycroft now, before, “I was under the impression that the woman was supposed to wear the most perfume, not the man,” and Mycroft sighs heavily now, before he looks across to you to apologize. 

 

But, “It’s so nice to have your opinion Sherlock,” you tell him a little sarcastically and he winks at you, before you smile as you finally join Mycroft by the counter. 

 

Somehow Mycroft and you end up kissing a moment later and Sherlock’s body tenses up at the sudden sound, before he pulls a disgusted face and groans, “Christ if you don’t stop I'm actually going to have to leave and get dinner somewhere else.”

 

And Mycroft pulls away from you now, before he frowns and tells his brother, “You will do no such thing. You’ll be staying here and you’ll be eating with us.”

 

But, “We won’t have any dinner if you keep on kissing, whilst it burns,” Sherlock retorts. 

 

And, “It’s not”- Mycroft begins, before he breaks off and hurries to open the oven door. 

 

Right on cue a plume of smoke billows out and Mycroft coughs and reverses a little, still in his crouched position, before he tries to waft the smoke away with his hand. 

 

Meanwhile you cover your mouth with your hand and cough into it for a moment. Then you reach up and fumble a little with the latch of the window, before you manage to push it open. 

 

Whilst somewhere amongst the chaos Sherlock groans, “I told you so.”

 

And when the smoke finally clears Mycroft is left standing there, his head bowed, feeling a failure as he stares morosely down at the burnt chicken that’s now on the counter. 

 

Sherlock meanwhile is shaking his head at the sight and you can already see him bringing up the numbers of the nearest takeaways in his mind so to try and rescue the situation you go across and place one of your hands on top of Mycroft’s on the counter, before you say as kindly as you can, “It’s not that bad. I'm sure we could just cut the top bits off it and”-

 

“It’s ruined F/N,” Mycroft tells you flatly, before he goes on a little dramatically, “I just wanted to make you dinner, not that we could have eaten it by the table anyway because Sherlock over there refused to tidy up, but”-

 

“I don’t mind sitting on the settee,” you tell him now, trying to cut him off, before he can get really depressed about the fact. 

 

And Sherlock lets out a, “Ha!” now, which causes both Mycroft and you to look at him oddly so Sherlock just shrugs at the pair of you. 

 

Then, “And I don’t mind eating a takeaway,” you add, but Mycroft doesn't look convinced and he still looks disappointed in himself so you continue, “It might surprise you but I didn't come because I thought this was a Michelin-starred restaurant or something, I came to spend time with you,” and Mycroft’s face softens now. 

 

Sherlock on the other hand sticks his tongue out now, before he turns to you and says, “By that logic my brother could be feeding you poison but you’d still be happy just because he was with you.”

 

And, _“Sherlock,”_ you groan. 

 

“Yes, do shut up brother dear,” Mycroft tells him now as he feels better. 

 

And so that is how a little later you find yourself sat on the settee with Mycroft, whilst Sherlock sits opposite you on a chair [“A quick getaway,” he’d said, “Just in case of emergencies” i.e. Mycroft and you kissing again] with the table in between you holding a pizza box and three glasses of wine. 

 

Mycroft had initially wanted a Chinese but both Sherlock and you opted for pizza so to keep things easy Mycroft went along with it, which is now why he finds himself struggling to cut up a piece of pizza on a plate because he refuses to eat it with his fingers like Sherlock and you. And you keep sending him fond looks every time his brow furrows at the failure of his latest attempt. 

 

Whilst Sherlock just feels very amused by it all. So, “It’ll be cold by the time you get to eat any of it,” Sherlock says, looking endlessly pleased by the idea and Mycroft pulls a bit of a face at him. 

 

But, “He’s right love,” you say absent-mindedly, before you realize what you've just said when Mycroft’s whole body freezes up and Sherlock looks disgusted once more.

 

And when Mycroft can finally pull himself together again he turns his head so that he can look at you with amazement in his eyes. 

 

But, “Next time tell me when you’re going to say something like that, I nearly choked,” Sherlock tells you. 

 

And you roll your eyes at him, before you tell Mycroft, “I know it’s a little messy but it’s really a lot simpler just to eat it with your hands.”

 

And when all Mycroft can do is nod dumbly, lay his knife and fork down on the plate and lift the piece of pizza to his lips robotically Sherlock just smirks because all this kind of thing will make wonderful blackmail material for the future.

 

*

 

Then when Sherlock and you have finally stopped sharing amused glances at Mycroft finally eating his pizza the easy way and Mycroft has finally come to the end of the last piece, Mycroft holds his hands away from him slightly in mid-air, before he goes across to the sink to wash them. 

 

And Sherlock and you watch as Mycroft washes his hands a little, before he slips his watch gingerly off his wrist and rests it delicately down upon the counter. Then he attends to his hands once more and his body heaves a little sigh of relief as his hands become clean again and as he does so Sherlock and you smirk at each other. 

 

Then, “F/N? Aren't you coming to wash your hands?” Mycroft asks over his shoulder, because he’s starting to feel uncomfortable about what Sherlock and you might be exchanging with each other through your looks when he can’t see the pair of you. 

 

And Sherlock tilts his head slightly as he raises his eyebrows at you as if to say _‘Well?’_

 

So, “Duty calls,” you say so that only Sherlock can hear you and Sherlock snorts at that, which makes Mycroft send another worried look at the pair of you over his shoulder, before relief fills his eyes as you join him by the sink. 

 

He shifts aside a little so that you can wash your hands, then unable to resist he moves again a moment later so that his body is pressed against yours, before he places his hands over yours and helps you to wash them. And when he looks at you, you smile a little and duck your head. Whilst somewhere behind you Sherlock makes a disparaging sound in his throat, before he stalks across and sits down by the table full of chemicals once more, his back turned to you. But Sherlock’s presence doesn't seem to matter any more, for suddenly it is just Mycroft with his sleeves slightly rolled up, his arms brushing yours as his hands caress your hands, and his blue eyes on yours that you can see and feel. And his head tilts closer to yours now and your eyes dart to his lips but then Sherlock bangs something down hard onto the table and both of your breaths hitch in your chests, before, with the moment broken, you draw further away from each other and swallow. 

 

Mycroft switches the tap off and then he grabs a cloth so that he can first dry his own hands and then yours, taking care of every finger as his eyes never leave yours.

 

Then, “There,” he tells you, before he puts the cloth aside on the counter, slips his watch back on, takes your clean hand in his and leads you back to the settee. 

 

And as you both sit down together you instinctively snuggle into the side of him and he switches the TV on with the remote, before he silently passes the remote to you. So you flick around the channels aimlessly, your head on Mycroft’s shoulder, until you end up settling on an old film that you like, that has several dance routines in. You’re not sure if Mycroft will like it though so you look at him but he just smiles at you and seems content enough so you relax once more, before you begin to watch it. Somewhere during the film Mycroft’s hand slips into yours and he begins to stroke your fingers with his thumb absent-mindedly so you take your head off his shoulder to look at him and smile, before you can’t help but notice that Sherlock has paused his actions at the table to turn his head slightly so that he can watch the couples dance in the film. 

 

So, “Can you dance too?” you ask him and Sherlock starts a little in his seat, before he turns his head towards you as he replies, “Yes a little.”

 

“He’s being modest,” Mycroft informs you, before, “He’s really a rather exceptional dancer and although he’d probably never admit it to anyone he does enjoy it.”

 

Sherlock doesn't really know what to say to that so he just gives a stiff sort of smile, before he nods and goes back to his chemicals. 

 

Mycroft though is in a mischievous mood and he bends his head, before he whispers into your ear, “Having said that he’s not as good as me though,” and both a smile and a blush light up your face, before you turn your attention back to the film. 

 

Once it’s over you give a little stretch and shift your position slightly, before you conclude, “I suppose I better go,” a little reluctantly, and then with Mycroft’s hand still in yours you stand up.

 

He stands up a moment later and he can see you looking across at Sherlock as if you’re wondering whether to say something or not so he stays where he is as you let go of his hand and take a tentative couple of steps towards the table. 

 

Then, “It was really nice to meet you properly Sherlock,” you say politely, and Mycroft hopes that his brother will be just as nice in return, but Sherlock just looks up at you, before he gives a little nod with some confusion in his eyes as if he’s wondering why you’re saying that to him. And you shift your position a little now, before you blurt out, “I also wanted to thank you for the song before, it was really beautiful.”

 

“I'm glad you liked it,” Sherlock says as his eyes fix on you for a moment, before he looks down again at his chemicals, but not before you catch his lips quirk upwards slightly in a pleased fashion. 

 

And so with that awkwardness over with you make your way to the door and, “I’ll see you out,” Mycroft says, sweeping across to reach the door a little before you and Sherlock rolls his eyes as Mycroft opens the door and lets you step out of it first, before he follows you a second later and closes it behind him. Then he looks around at the darkness that is slowly creeping its way in with concern, before his eyes fall upon you once more and he asks, “Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you home? It would really be no trouble, I don’t want”-

 

But, “I’ll be fine,” you tell him as you place a placating hand on his chest and he bites at his lip a little, before he nods. 

 

Then as you let go of him he huffs out, “I truly am sorry about what happened earlier, it was my full intention for the both of us to have a nice meal, whilst we sat by the table”-

 

But, “It’s fine,” you reassure him, your hands moving to his now and then as a smile plays on your lips you add, “Besides if everything had gone to plan then I would have never got to see you eating pizza and that was worth one culinary disaster believe me.”

 

His lips find yours now and suddenly your body is pushing against his so forcefully that he has to take a step back in order to balance the both of you and his body thuds against the door and-

 

 _“Christ!”_ Sherlock yells out and Mycroft and you break apart with a giggle escaping your lips and a small breath leaving his. 

 

Then, “Thank you for tonight,” you tell him shyly and he nods, before he bends to kiss you gently on the lips once more and then after another small smile at each other you leave.

 

Mycroft watches until you disappear from sight and then he looks at his watch to check the time, before he thinks that he’ll send you a text later to make sure that you’re safe. Then he turns to go back inside the flat. 

 

“Was it really necessary for you to yell out like that Sherlock?” he asks his brother, who is pretending to be busy again by the table. 

 

And, “Yes,” Sherlock replies as if such a thing should be obvious, before he says, “If you’re going to throw each other against doors in the future and I'm around then you should probably warn me first,” and Mycroft rolls his eyes now. 

 

Then he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, before he asks as casually as he can, “So what did you think of her?”

 

And Sherlock gives a little casual shrug now, his eyes looking at the test tube that his fingers are curling around, before, “She’s all right I suppose,” he says, and then once Mycroft opens his mouth as if to protest, Sherlock looks up at him, before he continues, “She’s everything that I already thought that she was for you and more,” and Mycroft swallows now, for he knows what Sherlock’s unspoken message is and he’s determined to heed it: _Don’t mess up._

 

*

 

“You look fine,” you tell Mycroft because he keeps tugging at his tie and what with trying to get ready yourself you can’t deal with him right now. 

 

But, “I need to look more than fine,” Mycroft growls nervously, before he looks around at where you’re smoothing down your white dress in front of the mirror with one hand and brushing your hair with the other and asks you, “Do you think I should pop home and change into something”-

 

 _“No,”_ you tell him firmly now, before at his slightly surprised expression at your tone you throw your hairbrush down onto your bed and go across to straighten his tie and then you leave your hands on his chest as you tell him, “You’re wearing a three-piece suit and quite frankly you look like you’re going to Buckingham Palace, not to see my brother,” then, “Besides, if we don’t leave in the next two minutes we’ll have a hard time getting there in time for lunch and I'm sure they’d be a lot angrier about us missing that then they will be because of what you’re wearing.”

 

And knowing that you’re right Mycroft lets out a little breath now and you can feel the vibration of it underneath your hands so you stand on your tiptoes to kiss him quickly, before you take his hand and lead him out of the flat. 

 

Navigating public transport with Mycroft Holmes is in one word interesting. Walking with him is one thing but you are quite sure that he is probably the poshest person to ever go on that particular bus route and when a couple of teenagers shoot him a funny look you slip your hand into his protectively. You’re not quite sure how that would have helped anything if they’d started a fight though, you later think. 

 

So it is a small relief when you finally come to be standing on the end of Kurt’s driveway, even though Mycroft, who began to relax a little on the journey, has gone all tense again. And you reach up to give his shoulders a quick rub and to try and flatten the tension out of them, before you give him a quick peck on the lips and tell him, “You’ll be fine,” but even as he nods he doesn't look convinced. Still, there’s not much more you can do now so you just take his hand in yours and lead him to the door. Then as you ring the doorbell Mycroft’s hand slips around your waist and you push your side against his a little to try and reassure him with your presence as you wait.

 

It seems to take forever for the door to be answered and you swallow, before you shift your position a little nervously. 

 

Then finally the door’s flung open to reveal Kurt there and you can feel Mycroft’s body grow even tenser at the sight of him, as if he has been thrown into the Coliseum against a particularly tough looking rival, so to try and get things more relaxed again you say as brightly as you can, “Kurt, it’s so good to see you,” before you let go of Mycroft and step forwards a little to hug your brother. 

 

And, “You too,” Kurt tells you as he lets go of you, before his eyes slide to Mycroft. 

 

“Mycroft Holmes,” Mycroft says automatically and Kurt nods at him. 

 

Then, “It’s good to meet you,” Kurt says, though the way he says it is so heavy that it doesn't exactly correspond with the words, and as the two shake hands you can sense Kurt trying to crush Mycroft’s fingers but as you open your mouth Kurt lets go, before he leads you both inside. 

 

And as you follow Kurt through to the kitchen you look over your shoulder to check if Mycroft’s okay only to see that he looks a bit pale and very serious so you try to give him the best reassuring smile that you can, before you turn your head away again. 

 

“F/N!” Matilda squeals as soon as you enter the kitchen and she comes across from the counter to sweep you up into her arms now, a big smile on her face, before she pulls away from you and steps back a little, then, “You must be Mycroft, it’s a pleasure to finally get to meet you,” she says, before she reaches her hand out towards Mycroft. 

 

And, “The pleasure’s all mine,” Mycroft says, before he bends to kiss her hand and Matilda lets out a very girlish giggle at the gesture, whilst both Kurt and your brows furrow in a near identical manner. 

 

But, “Oh, I can see what you mean about his voice F/N,” Matilda says, before she puts a dramatic hand to her forehead now and gives a bit of a fake swoon and you force yourself to chuckle, before Mycroft turns to you and raises one of his eyebrows questioningly, a trace of amusement playing on his lips, so you give him a little smile and shrug now, whilst your eyes tell him not to ask about that now. 

 

So he looks around the room instead. Then, “Ah, that must be Penny,” he nods as he sees Penny sitting on her high chair by the table.

 

“Yes it is, and don’t let that slightly distracted look fool you,” Matilda says as Penny seems to be trying to catch air in between her hands, “She’s been wanting to meet you for a while too.”

 

And you try to cover Mycroft’s slightly awkward smile now by asking, “Can we do anything to help with lunch?”

 

“No, no, it’s all under control. Why don’t you both sit down and I’ll pour us a glass of wine?” Matilda says, whilst Kurt goes off to find the corkscrew in one of the drawers. 

 

So Mycroft and you sit down on one side of the table and a moment later two glasses of wine land before you. Then Kurt sits opposite Mycroft a moment later and you can feel Mycroft’s knee shift uncomfortably against the side of your leg so you grasp it quickly underneath the table and Mycroft half-looks at you in acknowledgement, whilst Kurt eyes the pair of you suspiciously. 

 

Thankfully though lunch is ready a moment later and the next few moments are taken up with filling up your plates and passing things to each other. 

 

But you've only been eating for two minutes when Kurt half-glances up at Mycroft in between chewing his food and says, “F/N told us you work for the government. That must be interesting?”

 

Mycroft shifts a little then, “Oh, it’s only a minor position, it’s really just e-mails, calls and paperwork you know, nothing exciting.”

 

And, “He’s being modest,” you say, because although you don’t know exactly what Mycroft does you know that what with him having gone to Brussels it must be a more important role than what he’s letting on. 

 

But whilst Mycroft smiles a little indulgently at you he doesn't make any further comment. 

 

Still everything carries on quite nicely until Penny begins to cry a little and bang at the high chair with her small fists. 

 

And, “Oh what’s wrong sweetheart?” Matilda asks her, half-standing up so that she can lean across and check on her daughter. 

 

You however, barely pay any attention to the incident, you just half-look up to check that everything’s okay and then go back to eating, but Mycroft is suddenly sat straight-backed in his chair as his eyes fix on Penny thoughtfully. 

 

So, “You ever thought about having children?” Kurt asks as casually as he can when he sees the way Mycroft is watching the scene. 

 

And your head jerks up now, before you hiss angrily, _“Kurt!”_

 

But Mycroft rubs at your hand in a placating fashion for a moment, before he says, “No, it’s quite all right F/N, and no, to answer your question, I don’t think I have. But quite honestly it’s something that I never expected to have the chance to do, although, then again I never expected this to happen either,” Mycroft finishes and now he looks at you and your heart falters in your chest as he catches your eyes with his because his eyes are so filled with love for you. 

 

And Matilda gives a little, “Aww,” as she sits back down once more. 

 

Kurt though is still on the hunt. For, “But now that you've found F/N it’s maybe something you’d consider? Or at least wouldn't say no to?” he asks. 

 

And, _“Kurt!”_ you exclaim angrily, whilst a blush heats up your face and Matilda places a warning hand on her husband’s arm, before you turn your head to Mycroft and say, “You don’t have to answer that.”

 

Mycroft though says, “I guess it’s something I’d consider yes,” before he looks a little tentatively at you to make sure that he hasn't said anything wrong, and you force yourself to smile a little at him because of course he hasn't. _Kurt_ on the other hand-

 

“But, you know, F/N’s still so young right now,” Kurt pushes on and you let out a little frustrated groan but Kurt goes on regardless, “She’s only at the beginning of her career and everything, so you know, if you both were to, well”-

 

“Have sex?” Mycroft supplies in an even voice through thin lips and you are barely breathing from embarrassment now. 

 

And, “Yes, yes have sex, then you’d have to use protection”-

 

“Kurt, for God’s sake,” you interrupt. 

 

But Kurt just waves a hand at you, before he carries on, “I mean you’d have to use protection wouldn't you? Because, you know, it wouldn't be fair for F/N to have to take a break from her career now, before she’s even really started. That wouldn't be right would it?” and Kurt’s eyes lock with Mycroft’s now. 

 

Then, “No, of course it wouldn't be,” Mycroft agrees and the whole room seems to let out a breath of relief. But then, “If I were ever blessed enough to have one child with F/N then it would obviously be something that we’d discuss and that would be heavily planned, before we would act upon it,” Mycroft says evenly and Matilda looks impressed by that answer, whilst Kurt nods, though he still looks unsatisfied about something. 

 

So really it shouldn't come as such a surprise to you when after lunch is eaten and the last of the wine has been divided out Kurt blurts out, “Would you like to see the barbecue we use over the summer?”

 

But it is such a bizarre question that for a moment time just seems to stop and everyone looks at Kurt. 

 

Then, “That would be lovely,” Mycroft replies in a clipped voice, before he reaches to squeeze your knee underneath the table and then stands up.

 

You reach to take his hand for a moment to send him some courage and then as Kurt and he depart Matilda and you exchange a little glance. 

 

Then as soon as they've gone out through the patio doors into the garden you groan, “The barbecue? _Really?_ Could Kurt be any more obvious?” and a smile plays on Matilda’s lips as she drinks more of her wine.

 

Meanwhile Mycroft’s eyes catch sight of the white swinging seat as they go across the short grass to the small garden shed in the right-hand corner. Then he stands back a little as Kurt goes to open the door, before he holds it open and Mycroft comes forwards now. For a moment when he’d been waiting he’d half-begun to imagine that when Kurt would open the door there’d be a corpse of an ex-boyfriend of yours in there or something and Kurt would say something like, “This is what will happen to you if you hurt her,” but on the contrary it is the most ordinary garden shed imaginable. Filled with clutter, old plant pots, a tent, an old bag of compost that must have a small hole in it somewhere because the compost is trickling out onto the bottom of the shed, a deflated football, a puncture kit and at the front, of course, for easy access, the barbecue.

 

“Is he _actually_ showing him the barbecue?” you ask now as Matilda and you watch the pair from behind the closed patio doors with your wine glasses in your hands.

 

“He wins points for at least going through with his lie,” Matilda shrugs. 

 

“But loses them for being the most protective, idiotic older brother on the planet,” you reply, before you smile at each other now.

 

Mycroft meanwhile nods a little uncertainly as he pretends to take in the barbecue with interest and then when he can do it no longer he turns his head to see that Kurt is watching him with a serious expression on his face and so he says, “I'm sure it’s wonderful.”

 

But, “I'm not here to talk to you about the barbecue,” Kurt says, before he closes the shed door with a snap. 

 

And, “I know,” Mycroft says a little tersely and Kurt turns to face him properly, his hands fisted in his pockets.

 

And, “Oooh,” Matilda says in a mock whisper after both she and you exchange a look at Kurt’s action, then, “I think this is the part where Mycroft has to swear an oath to love you forever or face execution,” and you raise your eyebrows a little at her now, before you turn to look at Mycroft once more, and although you know it isn't quite as serious as all that you hope he’ll come through it all okay nonetheless. 

 

Then, as Mycroft feels barely safe enough to breathe, Kurt turns his head away from him for a moment to stare at the ground and kick out at a small stone by his feet, before he looks up at Mycroft again and says, “You really hurt her you know?” and he’s nodding now and biting at his lip a little, his eyes almost teary and Mycroft swallows as his body tenses, “I've never seen her like that before, not over anything,” Kurt goes on and, “I wanted to punch you about it all. Actually I still do,” he says and Mycroft lets out a little breath.

 

Then, “It would have been most deserved if you had,” he admits. 

 

And, “Tell me about it,” Kurt says, before, “I know she might seem all better about it now, but you didn't see her like I did. She phoned me for help because she couldn't bear to be on her own any more and usually she’s so independent. She’s never called me for help before. And I felt her shake in my arms as she cried over you and the worst thing was, was that I couldn't fix it. And you did that,” Kurt pauses now, biting at his lip again, before he continues, “And I know you've talked about it or whatever, and I know she’s forgiven you, and I'm not against you seeing her because I know how much you mean to her, but I swear, if you ever hurt her like that again when she’s trusted you enough to give you another chance then I will punch you, and I will ensure that she never gives you a third chance. Am I clear?”

 

“Perfectly,” Mycroft nods. 

 

“Good,” Kurt says, before he pats Mycroft on the shoulder like they’re old friends and says, “In that case let’s enjoy the rest of the afternoon,” and he leads the way back to the house now. 

 

Behind him Mycroft lets out a little puff of relief that, that’s over. 

 

Whilst in front of him Matilda and you dart back to sit down to pretend that you hadn't moved since they’d left. 

 

But, “I know you were watching us, I could see you,” Kurt says as he pads inside. 

 

“Well someone had to be the referee sweetie,” Matilda tells him, before she says, “I hope you didn't go too hard on him.”

 

Kurt looks at her now, before he says guardedly, “No, Mycroft and I were just talking about gardening, weren't we Mycroft?”

 

And Mycroft, who has come to stand by your chair now, nods. 

 

But, “If you expect us to believe that then you both need to go and have your heads examined,” Matilda tells them, before she quips, “Unless you were talking about flowers and their fertilization like you were at lunch time? Then, yes, I think you were probably both just talking about gardening.”

 

Kurt shakes his head at her now, whilst you flush a little at the fact that Matilda just compared you to a delicate flower, before you get up and then tell Mycroft, “I know you've just seen the garden but I want to take you out there this time.” 

 

And, “Okay,” Mycroft murmurs, whilst Kurt eyes you suspiciously. 

 

So you dart across to the fridge door and upon spying some blueberries you lift them out and ask, “Mind if we take these for dessert?”

 

And, “Be my guest,” Matilda tells you with a small smile, before she grabs hold of Kurt’s arm when he opens his mouth to say something. 

 

And you smile at her, before as you carry the blueberries in one hand you grab Mycroft’s with the other and drag him outside. 

 

As the patio doors close on Kurt’s protests and with Mycroft beside you and the light spring sunshine on your face you feel at peace again. 

 

And as you stroll across the grass together to the white swinging seat you nod your head at it, before you tell him, “That’s where I was sitting the first time we ever did a question and answer session.”

 

And Mycroft lets out a little breath now at the memory, before, “In that case that seat has immediately become more special to me,” he teases and you laugh, before you plop down onto the seat and tangle his legs with yours a little once he’s sat down beside you. 

 

Then, “Blueberry?” you ask him. 

 

And, “Please,” he says, before as you get out a blueberry he can’t help but ask mischievously, “So what did Matilda mean about my voice earlier?” and he grins as you blush furiously, before you lean across hurriedly so that you can pop the blueberry in his mouth. 

 

His lips graze against your fingers as he takes it and then after he eats it and sees that your eyes are still on his lips he breaks the distance between you to kiss you gently. You gasp a little into his mouth and then as you twist around to grab at his shoulder the plastic container holding the blueberries tips off your lap with a clatter, causing all the blueberries to roll against the grass a moment later. At the disturbance Mycroft begins to pull away a little but not satisfied you deepen the kiss, before he can and he groans a little into your mouth. 

 

Then, “Drinks! Anyone want drinks?!” Kurt yells, all flustered, as he comes charging out of the patio doors and Mycroft and you pull away from each other with a small smile. 

 

“Coming,” you call to Kurt so that he has to step back inside reluctantly as Matilda rolls her eyes at him, before you stand up and grab Mycroft’s hand once more, then, “Before we go back in can we try something?” you ask. 

 

Then, “As long as it’s a strictly non-sexual something because I don’t think your brother could cope with anything else right now,” Mycroft tells you only half-jokingly. 

 

And, “Yes,” you smirk, and then you bite your lip a little, before you confess, “I've had a couple of dreams about us dancing in this garden so I thought…” and you trail off now.

 

“Ah,” Mycroft says with a gleam of something in his eyes, before he muses, “Is that the reason you’re wearing a dress today when I've never seen you in one before?”

 

And, “It might be,” you confess with a small smile.

 

“In that case,” Mycroft says as he leads you by the hand across to the centre of the garden, “It would be an honour.” 

 

So with one hand in his and the other on his shoulder, whilst his free hand finds your waist, you begin to move together once more, whilst Kurt and Matilda step out to watch you. 

 

This dance soon transpires to be livelier than the first dance you’d shared together at your flat though, for every now and again Mycroft twirls you, before you move around the garden a little, only to end up back in the centre where with his usual flair of drama Mycroft dips you when the imaginary song in his head ends. Though unlike your first dance you barely stay suspended in the air for more than a second, only long enough for your eyes to connect with his and for you to let out a little breath, and as you come into an upright position once more you are left craving more songs and more dances with this man. 

 

Then as Matilda cheers and even Kurt gives a small smile in spite of himself, Mycroft murmurs into your ear, “I think you should wear that dress to dance again in some time my dear,” before he lets go of you and goes across to take his bow.

 

*

 

“So,” Sherlock says as soon as Mycroft gets home that night, feeling tired but hesitantly pleased about how his first meeting with Kurt, Matilda and Penny had gone, “Now that you've met her family are you going to be more honest with her about your work?”

 

And Mycroft opens his mouth now, before he runs a hand through his hair and then goes to sit down on the armchair. 

 

Sherlock turns slightly from his position by the table to look at him then, “You should probably try to remember, as you’re considering this, that it was your lack of honesty with her that led to the last big mess you were in. So if you want to avoid anything like that again then being more honest with her is probably a good idea.”

 

Mycroft takes his words in for a moment and Kurt’s words about making sure he won’t ever have a third chance come back to him too. Then he rubs his hands tiredly across his face because, “I can’t tell her everything-”

 

“Maybe not,” Sherlock agrees, “But you can’t go around promising to meet up with her all the time when you know that realistically you won’t be able to either.”

 

And Mycroft swallows, before, “Okay,” he breaths and then, before he can get out of it, he takes out his phone and texts you: **Thank you for supporting me today. If possible I’d like to come over to your flat Monday night? Say at seven?** Before he slips his phone back inside his pocket. Then he looks back at Sherlock who nods at him tersely. 

 

*

 

When you open the door at seven on Monday night feeling happy to be spending time with Mycroft again you smile, “Hi,” at him. 

 

But he looks serious and he only gives you half-a-smile when he replies, “Hello F/N.”

 

So as soon as you’re both sat down on the settee together you ask him, “Is everything all right?” because he's turned slightly away from you and won’t even look at you. 

 

Then, with his hands clasped by his knees and his body bent slightly he turns to look at you, before he says a little heavily, “I need to talk to you.”

 

And your heart jerks in your chest now, before you blurt out, “You don’t want to be with me do you?”-

 

“F/N, of course I want to be with you, it’s nothing like that,” Mycroft interrupts you, looking slightly alarmed and uncertain of how to deal with your outburst, before he runs a slightly frustrated hand through his hair. “It’s just…” and now he finds himself trailing off so he tries again, “I-I haven’t exactly been entirely honest with you about my work,” and as you pale slightly now he reads your mind and confesses, “I do work for the government, but I suppose my position is not quite as minor as I've previously had you believe.” And as you open your mouth now and let out a little breath he places a hand over yours and says, “Now, whilst this doesn't change anything, it does mean that I might not always be able to meet you whenever we plan to, although of course I will always endeavour my hardest to.” You nod now to show that you've both heard and understood Mycroft’s words and he smiles at you a little encouragingly, before he turns his head away for a moment, thinking hard. Then he turns his head back towards you and says, “And as part of being honest with you about this I need to know if you’ll at least consider doing something for me?” and his other hand comes to clutch your free hand now so that both of your hands are in between his, whilst his face looks serious and his eyes watch yours urgently. 

 

So, “What?” you whisper. 

 

And he lets out a little breath now, before, “If…and I know this will sound strange F/N,” he confesses, “And I don’t want to scare you, but well, I have to take this seriously, I couldn't bear it if…” and you can see his eyes picturing something dark now, though of course you cannot know that he’s remembering the nightmare he had when Sherlock was ill but rather than visualizing Sherlock being tortured on the ground he’s currently seeing you, so you squeeze his hands to bring him back to reality. His eyes flicker at your touch and then, “I was wondering if you’d give me permission to get a security detail in place for you?” he asks. 

 

Your face pales now, before you let out a little breath and then say somewhat in astonishment, “You really don’t have a minor position do you?”

 

Mycroft lets out a little chuckle now in between a breath, before he shakes his head. Then he confesses, “It has always been a little less minor then what I had you believe, but up until very recently it wasn't quite so major.”

 

“Around the time you knew you were going to Brussels?” you guess. 

 

And, “Around that time yes,” he agrees, before he asks, “So will you?” with his eyes very serious once more. 

 

Then, “But why would anyone”-

 

“I don’t want us to hide our relationship. I want to be able to take you anywhere that you want to go. But I cannot pretend that by doing that we’ll never be noticed. And there are certain people out there who wish me harm,” and he pauses now, before at your slightly wide eyes he goes on as gently as he can, “And the most harm that anyone could do to me right now, apart from hurting Sherlock of course, would be if they harmed you.”

 

You look away now because it feels so strange to think that you could just be going quite happily about your business and then-

 

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Mycroft says softly now and you look at him, “And if I could avoid troubling you with such issues then I would. But at the same time I need to keep you safe,” and you realize suddenly now that whilst you might have made light in your mind of Mycroft keeping you close by even in the hallway, for him it was something that he saw a real threat in. 

 

So, “How would it work?” you ask and he looks a little encouraged by you asking that question. 

 

Then, “There would be someone following you at a distance, possibly more than one person depending on where you were. They would not talk to you or make any kind of contact with you unless it was urgently needed. Likewise, if you became aware of them then you should not talk to them or draw attention to them in any way. They would not interfere with your day at all. They would only be there to ensure your safety,” Mycroft says almost robotically as if he is reciting something that he once read in a manual a very long time ago. 

 

You take a little breath now because naturally it is a lot to take in. 

 

And Mycroft hesitates a little, before he says, “If you were to agree then, I know it would be difficult, but you wouldn't be allowed to tell anyone”-

 

 _“Kurt”-_ you say instinctively now. 

 

But, “No, I'm afraid not,” he says, rubbing at your hands a little, whilst you take a breath. 

 

Then, “So if I went to Kurt’s house someone”-

 

“Would be keeping an eye on you from a little distance yes,” Mycroft supplies. 

 

But, “I don’t like the idea of that,” you confess, “Of someone watching with Penny there”-

 

“It would be someone that has cleared many checks, I would not allow anyone else to watch you,” Mycroft assures you now. 

 

But, “You think I’d be safer for it?” you ask. 

 

“I know you would be,” Mycroft replies fervently and he sounds so certain and so sure that you nod. 

 

Then, “Okay,” you say. 

 

And Mycroft lets out a little breath of relief now, before he kisses you quickly and places his hands on your shoulders as he says, “Thank you,” and you can see already that it is a weight off his mind. But then, “There’s something else I’d like to discuss too,” he says, and when your face fills with uncertainty once more he assures you, “It’s nothing to worry about. I just thought that perhaps having a more regular routine of when we see each other and such might be useful in allowing us to feel more comfortable with each other.”

 

“But won’t that be impossible with your work?” you ask him, though you are all for the idea if you can both make it work. 

 

And, “It might be a little difficult at times,” Mycroft admits, “But I think it’s something we should at least try.”

 

“Okay,” you breathe.

 

So, “Perhaps we could try to see each other twice in the working week and then both days if it’s possible at the weekend?” he suggests. 

 

And you think about it for a moment, before, “That sounds like a good plan,” you admit, for that way you’ll be able to see each other but have your own space too. 

 

But instead of looking pleased Mycroft looks away and bites at his lip for a moment, before he looks back at you and begins tentatively, “I also thought it might be useful if, as awkward as it might be, we were to discuss how far we feel comfortable taking our relationship right now?”

 

And, _“Oh,”_ you exclaim with a little surprise, before you let go of his hands and straighten up in your seat and he straightens up too so that he can look at you and gauge your reaction. Then, “Well,” you begin as you run a hand through your hair, before you let it drop back down to your lap again, “I-I mean obviously I-I'm not ready for y’know sex yet…”

 

And Mycroft nods now, before he prompts, “Though if I may say so there is quite a lot that, that still leaves room for.”

 

“Oh,” you say now, before you flush a little and then say, “Oh, yeah, I guess you’re right.”

 

So Mycroft, knowing that he’ll have to take the lead, tries to be more specific when he asks, “If, for example, my hands went to certain areas of your body that were not your shoulders or waist, and I'm being very delicate here, would you feel comfortable with it?”

 

And as soon as you realize what he means you flush furiously, before you admit, “Um probably not, not right now, no…”

 

Once more Mycroft nods, before he informs you, “Likewise I should tell you that I wouldn't feel hugely comfortable if your hands slipped below my waist right now.”

 

And not knowing quite what to say to that you finally get out, “Oh, oh right,” whilst you look at your lap rather than at him. 

 

So he takes your hands in his now to make you look at him, before he says, “Though, naturally, just because I say that, that doesn't mean we can’t enjoy the more _physical_ aspects of our relationship,” and your lips quirk upwards now, before naturally your eyes dart to his lips and he smiles at you. Then, “We can still do this,” he murmurs as he leans closer to you and you can feel his warm breath on you, before his lips are on yours and you moan a little into his mouth as he deepens the kiss very quickly by first biting on your bottom lip and then by flicking his tongue into your mouth, whilst all the time his hands are on your waist and yours are on his shoulders. And the whole thing becomes very frantic and noisy, before he finally pulls away panting with a bit of a gasp. 

 

Your foreheads come to rest together and for a moment you just listen to the sounds of each other’s breathing go from jagged and uneven in the best possible of ways to a little calmer as you both cool down once more. 

 

And as you lean back a little you can’t help but ask now, “What happens if we want to try something more?” because the way he just kissed you has reminded you that it’s one thing to talk about it but something quite different when you can feel his tongue exploring your mouth and his hands on you and feel your whole body thrumming for more. 

 

So, “What would something more be?” Mycroft asks you a little breathlessly but as evenly as he can manage nonetheless, yet on the inside his heart skips a beat at your question and he has to struggle to keep his eyes on your eyes rather than letting them dart down to your slightly swollen lips. 

 

And you think now as you try and recall the intensity of the kiss and where your body would have been quite happy for his lips to go, then you look up from where your hand has been playing with a crease on the knee of your jeans, before you suggest, “If I wanted you to kiss a part of me that wasn't my lips or my cheek for example,” and now you lift your head up slightly so that you reveal more of your neck to him and then run your hand across it tentatively. 

 

Mycroft swallows now and he can feel his breathing beginning to go all uneven again and feel the desire of doing such a thing begin to pool in him too. Then he says somewhat breathlessly, “Then we would tell each other and if I felt comfortable with the idea, or vice versa, then it would be something we’d do. And if not then I guess we’d have to discuss it further or just wait a while.”

 

“What if this is me telling you now?” you ask him as your eyes lock with his.

 

And all of a sudden he’s there and his lips are on your neck and your hands are moving frantically to cling onto the back of his shirt, whilst you tilt your head further back without thinking to give him better access and your whole body’s shuddering a little because what he’s doing to you feels so good and you can barely breath let alone think straight, before as his teeth nips against your skin slightly you yell out and his head straightens up to look at you, his pupils blown wide and his chest jerking up and down slightly as he breathes hard. 

 

Then, “Are you okay?” he gets out, because no matter how good that felt for him what with you yelling out he’s a little worried that he might have gone too fast, too soon. 

 

But by the way you’re smiling, your pupils blown too and running your hands tenderly down the side of his face, before you lean forwards slightly to kiss him on the lips, he soon knows, even without you saying anything, that you’re okay too.

 

*

 

The next day though when Matilda comes around unexpectedly after you finish work you’re forced to fling a thin scarf around your neck to cover up the mark there, even though it is the warmest spring day imaginable, because there is no time to do anything else. You already failed to cover it up with make-up this morning. But when you open the door to her she takes in your appearance, before a smile plays around her lips a little knowingly and when you’re making some tea for her she says from her place by the small table, “You should probably invest in a better foundation or concealer,” and when you stop what you’re doing and look across at her with a start she says, “We've all been there sweetie,” and you flush furiously, before you carry on making the tea. 

 

Then you have a sudden thought and so you look up and say, “Don’t tell Kurt.”

 

And, “Oh believe me I won’t,” she says, before, “You should probably update him more on what’s going on between Mycroft and you though. He’s already panicking that he’ll push you into something you’re not ready for,” and she pauses for a moment, before she has a thought and carries on more strongly, “You’re quite lucky he’s not the one here right now actually. He was going to come but I managed to persuade him that it was better for me to do it.”

 

So, “What will you tell him?” you ask her as you bring the tea over, before you sit down beside her. 

 

And she considers everything for a moment, before, “More or less the truth, which is hopefully that Mycroft’s being a gentleman and treating you right”-

 

“He is,” you confirm, nodding a little too eagerly, before you smile and blush. 

 

Then, “Good,” Matilda says, before, “And I know part of me is just here because of Kurt but I am really happy for you F/N.”

 

And you grin at her.

 

*

 

Things go more smoothly after that. Mycroft and you get into a more regular routine and if he has to cancel then you just change it to seeing each other as soon as possible after that point, which often becomes the next night. And though there is the odd night where you feel frustrated by not being able to see him then mostly you just swallow and feel okay about it all. For you know that he’s trying his best after all and it’s still nice to have your own space so there’s no point in getting angry about it. 

 

Whilst another aspect that goes far more smoothly than you could have imagined is the implementation of your security detail. For, just like Mycroft said, you barely notice that there’s anyone keeping an eye on you and when you do, although you always initially feel uncomfortable even to the point where sometimes a shiver goes right through you, you try not to look too closely and shrug it off. 

 

And you also make sure to see Kurt regularly and phone him so that he can see that you’re all right, even though your new favourite saying when you see him seems to become, “No Mycroft and I haven’t had sex,” to which Kurt always replies, “Good, but if you do then make sure you use protection,” which is usually followed by a small lecture on how you’re to make sure to tell him if Mycroft starts pestering you to go faster than you’d like because, “I know you’d probably tell him yourself F/N but guys can be pushy sometimes, so if you ever told me that then I could have a conversation with him.” And you often follow that by saying, “How would you start that one off? By asking if he’d like to see your wheelbarrow?” to which Matilda always laughs if she’s around and Kurt just blushes and smiles a little, before he makes sure that you know he’s serious to which you nod as patiently as you can and confirm that yes, you do. 

 

Mycroft though, is of course, the perfect gentleman. Though the pair of you have gotten bolder with each other, to the point where you won’t let him kiss your neck if you know that you’re seeing Kurt the next day, and to the point where you can almost guarantee that at some point over the weekend you’ll find yourself caught in between the settee and Mycroft’s body, which will be pressed tightly against yours, as you breathe hard and he kisses your lips, neck or face. And you both continue getting bolder with each other until some time in early August when after a picnic in the park and when Mycroft and you are just lying side by side each other on his jacket [and there was some drama earlier because you’d forgotten the picnic rug and wanted to go back for it but he insisted that you could manage just fine without it] when you turn to him and say, “Actually, I wanted to suggest something.”

 

And, hearing your cautious tone, he rolls over onto his side so that he is facing you properly, his hand absent-mindedly climbing up to your hip as he waits for you to go on. 

 

So after you bite your lip and stare at his collarbone for a moment you flick your eyes back up to his, before you say, “I was wondering if, I mean it doesn't have to be straight away or anything, but if you’d like to stay the night sometime?” He lets out a little breath now and his heart jolts inside his chest. Then it practically stops altogether when you tell him in a soft, flirtatious voice, “And I'm being delicate when I say stay the night.”

 

For a moment he just stares at you and takes in your words and then his hand runs its way down from the top of the side of your face and drifts through your hair, before as it comes to rest on your cheek gently he asks, “Are you sure?”

 

“Yes,” you tell him, before you admit, “I mean obviously I've thought about it a lot, but I think I'm ready if you are. So what do you think?”

 

And Mycroft rubs your cheek with the pad of his thumb for a moment now, before he murmurs, “I think I’d like that very much,” and you smile a little shyly, before he lets go of you and sits up, his knees coming up towards his chest and his hands flinging over the edge of them. 

 

So, “What is it?” you ask him a little worriedly as you sit up too, for he already seems to be thinking hard about something. 

 

Then he turns his head to you and says, “We’ll have to figure out a potential date so that I can make it special for you, obviously if something happens and you don’t want to do it that night then that’s fine, we’ll just have to be”-

 

But, “No,” you interrupt him and he looks at you with confusion in his eyes. So you grab at his hand and toy with it for a moment, before you tell him, “I don’t need a special dinner or roses or heart confetti on the bed or anything like that, I just need you.”

 

And he opens his mouth to protest, “But I’d really like to make it special”-

 

“It _will_ be special,” you tell him, because, “It’ll be with you,” and Mycroft smiles a little now, before you add, “I don’t want it to feel forced or whatever, I just want it to happen naturally one night.”

 

And he bites at his lip for a moment, before he looks away and then looks back at you to say, “All right, if you’re sure,” but you can tell that he’s still worried that it won’t be special enough, or good enough, or what he feels you deserve so you just lay back down with him again and snuggle into his chest, whilst you let him think about it all, his hand absent-mindedly playing with the material of your dress on your hip as he does so.


	9. Happily Ever After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or the one where there's a wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick warning that there's a sex scene near the start of this chapter.

It happens one night a few days later. 

 

It’s a Saturday and the day starts out ordinary enough. You have a bit of a lie-in, feeling grateful for the weekend and to be able to wake up and get up in your own time without having to get anywhere in a hurry. And for a moment, as the summer sunshine pours through your window, you just lie there, thinking about things like what you’ll do that day and how you’re looking forward to seeing Mycroft again that night. Not to mention how you need to call Kurt soon to see when he’s thinking of having his annual summer barbecue because you keep forgetting to mention it every time you talk to him. Then you get up and listen to some music, whilst you have your breakfast, before you take a walk through the park where you find a lot of people there already, strolling along in no hurry as they walk either alone or in a group. And it makes you think of the day when you took the red velvet cake around to Sally’s house and you slow your pace a little now as you remember how Sally had warned you off Mycroft and told you, you were in too deep. It all seems so long ago now that it’s hard to believe that it only happened just over a year ago, for such a lot seems to have happened since then. 

 

You shop at the supermarket on your way back and when you see the red velvet cake you can’t resist purchasing it to share with Mycroft later. Then when you get back you have an early lunch, before you read for a lot of the afternoon until your phone buzzes on the coffee table. 

 

 **Is it still okay for me to come around tonight?** Mycroft’s sent.

 

And you can’t help but smile at that. For no matter how many times you've told him that he doesn't need to double check he always does anyway. 

 

So, _Of course_ , you send, before you can’t help but send another that says, _I think you’ll be most thankful for what I bought today too._

 

Then when you realize what the time is you put your phone back down on the coffee table, jump up and hurry off to start dinner. 

 

*

 

He comes around at seven, as well dressed as ever in a black suit, white shirt and maroon tie, whilst he carries an expensive looking bottle of red wine. 

 

You greet and kiss each other briefly, before you dart away to turn the oven off and get ready to serve dinner. Whilst you’re doing this he goes to open the bottle of wine, before he pours it into two glasses and places them on the table. And you dart around each other with ease, Mycroft knowing where everything is and you trusting him enough to carry on with everything, whilst you attend to the dinner. 

 

Then finally you place the two plates of lasagne down onto the table and Mycroft pulls out your seat for you and then tugs off his jacket and puts it on the back of his chair, which is opposite yours, before he settles into it. 

 

Then for a moment you just focus on your food, blowing on it a little to cool it down, before you eat a bit of it.

 

And, “Mmm this is lovely F/N,” Mycroft informs you, but as you look at him he swallows a little for you have some of the sauce on your lips and he’d really like to just lean across and taste it now, yet-

 

“Oh is it okay? It’s not too”-

 

“No it’s wonderful,” he interrupts you, before he bites down on his lip for a moment and then, “Like you,” he adds in a soft murmur and he feels pleased that he said it when he sees a beautiful blush cross your face, before you duck your head. So he tangles your legs with his underneath the table to get you to look up at him again, before he tries once more, “I meant to tell you earlier that you’re looking very pretty this evening.”

 

And your heart squeezes pleasantly in your chest, before you tell him, “Oh thank you,” and then a little shyly you duck your head again and eat a little more. Then, upon remembering something, you look up at him to find that his eyes are still on you, which throws you a little and nearly makes you forget again, but luckily you don’t so you say, “I meant to ask you actually, I mean you don’t have to, but Kurt usually throws a barbecue in August and you’re welcome to come with me to it.”

 

“That sounds delightful,” Mycroft tells you and he recalls you ringing him last August to tell him about the barbecue and the dress you’d worn now…

 

“Great, um, I don’t know when it is yet. I’ll ask Kurt soon, I should have probably phoned him today actually but mpfh”- and you break off now because unable to resist any longer Mycroft has leant across the table to kiss you and you breathe a little sharply into his mouth and grab onto his shoulder, before his tongue flicks against the outside of your lips as he pulls away slightly.

 

Then, “Sorry,” he tells you as he sits back down properly, “You had some sauce still,” and he gestures to your mouth now, whilst a small smile plays on his lips. 

 

So, “Oh, right,” you reply, feeling both dazed and breathless, before your eyes can’t help but trail down to his lips. 

 

And you talk little after that but you can feel his body thrumming with energy and feel your own doing the same so it is as if the conversation between you never stopped. 

 

And as soon as dinner’s finished you move onto the red velvet cake with a franticness and eat it with a sloppy quickness as the atmosphere becomes even more charged around you. 

 

Then when you’re stacking the dishes into the sink and getting ready to abandon the washing up altogether Mycroft’s hands slip around your waist. And you turn so that your body is flush against his, before his lips find yours once more and he groans a little at the taste of the cake upon them, whilst your hands move up to cross around the back of his neck. Then at the feel of him so tightly against you, one of your hands moves to his shoulder, before the other one lowers to push sharply against his chest and when you pull away from him he looks a little surprised, for he was just getting started. 

 

So, “The settee?” he asks. 

 

But, “No,” you breathe and you shake your head a little. 

 

And his eyes only show more confusion now, before his hands loosen their grip on your waist slightly as he asks, “Did I do something wrong?”

 

Again you shake your head and then with a small smile you take his hand and begin to lead him out of the kitchen area and across towards your bedroom. 

 

But as soon as he realizes where you’re headed he stops and you turn back to him so he asks unevenly, “Are you sure?”

 

And, “Did you bring protection just in case?” you ask him and he nods, “Then I'm sure,” you tell him and you go to put a hand on his chest now, before you lean up to kiss him gently. 

 

He tries to deepen it but you pull away from him, before he can and smile teasingly at him. Then you pull him towards your bedroom once more. 

 

Once there you let go of his hand to slip your shoes and socks off and he hurriedly follows suit by untying his shoes and tugging both them and his socks off. 

 

Then you go across and pull the duvet back a bit, before you sit on the bed and gesture for him to join you, so with his heart beating erratically in his chest and his eyes on yours constantly he goes to sit cross-legged in front of you. 

 

Then in the next moment you’re tugging him forward by his tie and suddenly he’s leaning over you, straddling your hips, whilst his lips are on yours and you’re gasping and panting a little as your body responds to his dominating yours, before your hand goes up to claw at his tie to try and undo it frantically.

 

In the end though he has to pull away with a bit of a smile because you can’t undo it and you let out a little, breathless giggle, before he undoes it easily and tosses it aside. 

 

Then you both sit up a little straighter and your eyes fix on his for a moment, before your hands curve around his face and then drop down to begin to undo his shirt buttons. And as the first slither of skin is exposed your breath catches in your throat and he watches you all the while, his own breathing uneven. Then your hands undo the last of the buttons clumsily, before you look up at him again and then push the shirt down off his shoulders to reveal the milky pale skin that lies there. He wriggles out of it now, before he drops it down on the floor. Then you take a moment to just look at him.

 

So, “I know it’s not”- Mycroft begins, feeling suddenly self-conscious now. For he knows that you’re probably not expecting a six-pack, at least he hopes you’re not-

 

But, “You’re beautiful,” you breathe, your eyes grazing over every freckle and you think that one day you might count them, but you know that now’s not the time to so your hand reaches to trail down from his shoulder to his breast bone and he shudders a little underneath your touch. Then your lips find his again, before you pull away a bit breathlessly. And as you do you come to see that he’s looking at you for permission now so you nod. So his hands gently reach out to pull the top you’re wearing up and both of you are barely breathing as he does so. But then it’s like a sudden impatience takes over you and you can’t bear the top to be covering any part of you any longer. So you tug it off and toss it on top of his shirt on the floor. Then he swallows in the next moment as his eyes slide down your neck to your chest, and you feel an aching sort of want fill you from the bottom up as his eyes swirl with both desire and amazement that he’s getting to see you this way, before they flick up to yours briefly again. And then in the next moment those long, slender fingers come up to rest over the top of your bra and he lets out a little breath as soon as the tentative first contact is made, whilst you make a satisfied sound in your throat, before you close your eyes. For you want to remember this moment. Remember the only sound being that of both of your uneven breaths. Remember the feel of his hands so delicately upon you. But naturally it isn't long before you want more too. So you open your eyes and move your own hands to press his more firmly against your chest and he lets out a sharp little breath at the soft feel of you as he looks at you, before he swallows again. And the sight of his wide eyes makes you kiss him again, whilst his hands remain on your chest and yours stay over his. But kissing him again and feeling his fingers shifting slightly across your chest as you do so only makes you want even more and so you let out a breathy kind of moan that’s filled with desire, before your hands go down automatically to the waistband of his trousers and as they do he jerks away from you with a bit of a gasp. 

 

So, “Sorry, was that too”- you begin with a breathless kind of anxiety as you look at him now, but then you break off when he shakes his head slowly.

 

And, “No,” he replies in a husky voice, his eyes momentarily transfixed by the sight of your curled hands on the waistband of his trousers, before he drags them back up to look at you again. 

 

Then suddenly he’s the impatient one and he almost snatches at your hands, before he lowers them down in between his trousers and underwear so that you can feel how hard he already is for you. And then as your hands begin to take control and prod cautiously, before they both come to curve around his hard member you both groan as one. 

 

Then your hands are back on his shoulders and you’re kissing frantically again, your hands darting up through his hair and both of your mouths gasping, whilst in between all this he tugs off his trousers and you wriggle out of your jeans. 

 

Everything slows down a little once you’re both free from your trousers and then you just take each other in and let your hands explore the curves of each other’s chests and the length of each other’s legs, whilst your eyes dart to each other’s all the time to seek each other’s reassurance. 

 

Then, tentatively, Mycroft’s hands slide around your back to undo the clasp of your bra, his eyes on yours the whole time. And a little breath escapes him as he takes it away and drops it down to the floor, before his hands come back up to caress your breasts. You shudder a little underneath his touch now, your lips parted slightly, your eyes almost shut, and his eyes flick back up to your face briefly, before he bends his head to kiss down your chest, right down to your nipple. And your body jerks upwards against his and a breath escapes him, before he moves down to kiss your stomach. Then when his hands come to rest on the side of your underwear he looks back up at you, his lips slightly parted, his eyes on yours until you nod gently. So he slides them down your legs in one swift movement, before you kick them off your feet. Then in the next moment he swallows again because he can’t believe that he’s allowed to see all of you like this. But then your hands are reaching towards his own underwear and so with his eyes on yours he slides out of them. Then you’re kissing each other on the lips gently again and Mycroft struggles at the feel of you underneath him to think straight for a moment, before he finally gets out, “The protection,” and then he’s forced to clamber off you and rummage around the clothes on the floor to find said protection, whilst you breathe hard, your eyes transfixed by every inch of him and how beautiful he is. 

 

Then after sliding on the protection with fumbling fingers Mycroft’s leaning over you once more and you gasp and groan a little as his lips find yours, before they slide down to press insistent kisses against your neck. 

 

And then you’re grabbing onto his wrist and he’s looking at you and it is all you can do, with the feel of him everywhere on your skin, to breathe out, “Now,” and he’s looking at you, his heart pounding in his chest, to confirm what you mean. 

 

So, “I want you inside me,” you moan a little impatiently, before you buck your hips against his, which causes him to both groan and let out a little breath as he steadies himself above you. 

 

Then, “It might hurt a little,” he says a little uncertainly into your ear but you’re nodding quickly again, wanting him to get on with it, so he leans a little back from you, adjusts himself and then tentatively pushes inside you. 

 

You moan a little and squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, your hands clawing onto the sheet on the bed and then his body is resting tentatively against yours and his head is by yours again as he asks with concern, “Are you okay? Should I”- but he breaks off when you shake your head a little, before he lets out a little breath as your eyes open again. 

 

Then, “Move,” you tell him and he kisses your face and neck lightly for a moment now because he hates the fact that you’re feeling uncomfortable and hurting right now because of him and he wants to reassure you, to make things better, but he knows too that the only way they’ll get better is if he does move, so cautiously he begins to move. 

 

You swallow, your hands clinging onto his shoulders and then as he hits a sensitive spot you gasp a little, before you breathe, “More.”

 

And then you’re both gasping and groaning as he increases the pace and your hips buck against his as he alternates between kissing your lips, face and neck and just staring at you, whilst his hands move in between your chest and waist, before they fix on your waist completely as you both get closer to the edge. You get there first and yell out his name in a gasp, tears streaming down your face at the feel of it all and Mycroft comes a second later, his hands tightening on your skin, his mouth uttering your name against your shoulder, before he shudders a little and collapses against you more completely. 

 

Then for a moment you both just lie there, your hearts slowly cooling down from their frantic pace, his breath falling against your skin, whilst your hands reach up to comb through his hair. 

 

And then he looks up at you and before he can even ask if you’re okay you kiss him gently. 

 

Then when you break apart he slides out of you, before he clambers off you gently and goes to dispose of the condom and clean himself up a little, whilst you just lie there, basking in it all. 

 

Then when he returns and slips on his underwear once more you go and freshen yourself up, before you put your underwear back on and an old t-shirt and then slide back into bed with him again. 

 

And as soon as your body rolls on its side to face him he leans forwards to kiss you gently once more, before his hand rubs circles on your hip and the last thing you see, before you fall asleep are his eyes and all the love they hold for you.

 

*

 

When you wake up it is to find that your head is tucked underneath his chin against his chest and that his hand is curled around your waist protectively, and for a moment you just breathe everything in, before you shift your head out from underneath his carefully. He stirs at your movement and a moment later his lips move to kiss your forehead, before his eyes find yours and he murmurs a sleepy but satisfied, “Good morning F/N.”

 

“Morning,” you tell him, before you state a little worriedly, “I didn't mean to wake you.”

 

“I think I would have woken up in the next minute or so anyway,” he tells you in a gentlemanly fashion and he rubs a hand down your side now and you shiver a little at his touch, before his lips find yours. 

 

You pull away a little from each other a moment later and then you turn to get out of bed and get dressed. 

 

The pair of you have to rummage a little through all the clothes to find out what belongs to who and you blush a little in embarrassment at it all, for you hadn't realized how messy you’d both been last night. 

 

Then once you’re both looking somewhat respectable once more you lead him back to the small table in the kitchen area and begin to make him breakfast. You groan a little at the sight of all the dirty dishes from last night in the sink, before Mycroft, with concern in his eyes for you, gets up and comes to wash things up. 

 

So, “You don’t have to,” you tell him at once because you don’t want him to think that you’re getting at him because you most definitely aren't. 

 

But, “It’s the least I can do,” he says, before he adds a little mischievously, “After what was a most splendid night,” and you smile at him. 

 

*

 

After breakfast, during which your feet had pushed against each other’s underneath the table, for neither of you had yet put socks or shoes on, you are just about to go out and take a stroll through the park together when your land-line rings. 

 

So you stare at it for a moment, caught in indecision over whether you should answer it or not. Then, “I better get that,” you decide, “Just in case something’s happened,” so Mycroft nods and strides across to sit on the settee to wait for you, whilst you answer the phone. 

 

Then, “Hello?” you say after you've picked the phone up. 

 

And, “Hi F/N,” Kurt says brightly and you’re not quite sure whether you want to laugh or cry because of _course_ it’s him and ‘It’s Kurt,’ you mouth to Mycroft when he looks at you questioningly. Then, “I just called because it’s such a wonderful day and I was wondering if you wanted to meet us in the park in say half-an-hour?” Kurt says. 

 

And your heart sinks now because why of all days did he have to call and ask you that? Then you bite at your lip, before you answer somewhat awkwardly, “Um, that would be really nice, um but I'm not sure, Mycroft came around early today actually and so he’s here now and we were just going to spend some time together actually.”

 

And there’s silence now as Kurt takes in your words and digests each and every piece of them and your heart quickens uncomfortably in your chest, whilst your eyes catch sight of Mycroft’s shoulders as they go all tense. 

 

Then, “He must have come around really early. Are you sure he didn't just stay the night?” Kurt says and his tone is dark by the end of his words.

 

So your heart jerks in your chest, before you hiss down the phone, “Kurt I'm not talking about it right now”-

 

But, “Did you use protection? Because I swear to God if you didn't”-

 

“Kurt,” you hiss and you open your mouth to go on but-

 

“He didn't push you into it, did he? Because I’ll come around there right now if he did and”-

 

“Will you shut up?” you ask him through gritted teeth, before you stretch the line out as far as you can take it so that you’re as far away from an awkwardly smiling Mycroft as possible and then say, “Everything’s fine here. And I'm really sorry but I won’t be able to meet you today but I’ll meet you real soon I promise. Goodbye,” and then you slide back and put the phone down. 

 

Then, “Well that was awkward,” you announce as you run a flustered hand through your hair and Mycroft looks around at you now so you go on, “And I'm afraid we’ll have to skip the park, Kurt’s heading there in a bit”-

 

So, “Do you think he’ll come here?” Mycroft interrupts you to ask and he looks a little apprehensive now. 

 

But, “No,” you tell him, before you go and sit on his lap and his hands move to your waist at once to support you and keep you in place, before, “Let’s just stay here,” and as you kiss him and his hands hold onto you more firmly you can tell that he’s fine with the idea. 

 

And although you don’t have sex again and just kiss, cuddle and talk for the duration of the morning, before you take a chance and stroll to a café nearby to have lunch, things couldn't be nicer. 

 

Then after that you stroll somewhat tentatively to the park and after you do a quick scout around for Kurt, once there’s no sign of him, you make your way across to one of the benches and sit down on it together, before you nestle yourself against his black suit jacket as much as you can. Then you just while away the afternoon by holding each other close and watching the world go by. 

 

And it’s four o' clock and the breeze is picking up when Mycroft shifts beside you and says reluctantly, “I suppose I better head back home soon.”

 

So you kiss his cheek, before you get up slowly and he follows suit. 

 

Then for a moment you just look at each other, before, “Thank you for last night,” he says tenderly, and the way he says it makes the memory of everything, of his skin on yours, the feel of him inside you, the way he was so gentle with you and the way he called out your name, fill you up, and for a moment you feel breathless again so for a moment you just carry on looking at him. 

 

Then, “Thank you too,” you say, before he kisses you gently and then he’s turning away and walking away from you so you swallow, before you go off in the opposite direction. 

 

*

 

When Mycroft gets home Sherlock just looks up at him, before he raises an eyebrow and then his mouth quickly forms a smirk, before he asks, “Had fun?” and he feels delighted when a light blush dusts its way across Mycroft’s cheeks and when instead of replying he just bows his head and hurries off to his bedroom to get changed. 

 

*

 

**31st October**

 

“How much longer F/N?” Mycroft asks you, before he excuses his irritation by adding, “I think I'm going to sneeze.”

 

So, “Not much longer I promise,” you tell him from where you’re sitting on his lap as you dab make-up onto his face and he wrinkles his nose now at the smell of it all so, “Try and stay still,” you tell him and he groans a little, before he shifts underneath you slightly and adjusts his hands on your waist. 

 

Then, “I'm not sure they’ll even want me there, I”-

 

“They invited you,” you remind him, before, “And after we discussed doing this last year how could we pass up on the opportunity?”

 

And Mycroft gives you a _‘is that really supposed to convince me?’_ look now, before he tells you, “I believe I told you that in a few years time they’d be making _you_ dress up. I don’t ever recall mentioning anything about _me_.”

 

“Yes, but then I told you that if I’d make a good vampire’s wife then you’d make a fine vampire,” you remind him, whilst you patiently apply a trickle of fake blood just below his lips. But he just sighs a little now so you say, “You won’t look weird, it’s Halloween, and if you never want to celebrate it again then you don’t have to. Just do this one year for me please?”

 

So, “Okay,” he relents now and you smile a little at him, before you swing off his lap and step back a little to admire your handiwork. 

 

He’s wearing a white shirt with a ruffled collar and sleeves, a black waistcoat and dark trousers and you've combed his hair back a little, applied white make-up to make him look even paler, applied a dark eye-liner to his eyes to make the cold blue of them stand out more and applied lipstick the colour of congealed blood to his lips, before you've finished it off by swiping some fake blood from his lower lip towards his chin. And for your first attempt, because of course Mycroft wouldn't let you practice on him beforehand no matter how much you tried to bribe him, it doesn't look half-bad you conclude. 

 

So you nod at him in a satisfied manner, before you take his hand to pull him into a standing position and then lead him across to the full-length mirror that’s on the outside of your wardrobe. 

 

For one moment his lips part slightly in horror, for what on earth have you done to him? And how long will it take to get it all off? But then, appreciating it more, he begins to turn this way and that and you smile at him, before you make him leave your bedroom and go and wait on the settee, whist you get ready yourself. 

 

You don’t leave him waiting long though and a quarter-of-an-hour later you emerge again and Mycroft stands up, before he turns to look at you and he swallows as he does so. For you’re wearing a very short white dress that you've cut triangles out of haphazardly on the bottom to make it appear all ragged, black tights and black boots and you've put eye-liner on and a bright red lipstick. And he never thought that he’d find himself becoming aroused by a mere costume but he finds that his trousers suddenly feel a little tighter and so he has to swallow again and blink a little, before he gets out, “You look..” before he trails off again because he can’t even sum up what you look like, all he knows is that you look like the finest vampire he has ever set eyes on. 

 

And a small smile plays on your lips now, before you go across and curve a hand from his shoulder to the bare bit of skin that’s not covered by his shirt. Then you whisper, “I forgot to tell you before, I think you might have to help me get all this off later. Can you do that?” and he swallows again, before he nods. And then when you turn away from him and head to the door, suddenly all eager, he hurries after you. 

 

On the journey there is a lot of Mycroft keeping you as close as possible, one of his hands on you protectively at all times, and of him muttering anxiously that he thinks maybe your dress is too short when it catches the attention of your fellow travellers, whilst you roll your eyes. 

 

So when you finally arrive at your brother’s house you both feel relieved for different reasons that the journey is over. Then you notice that the door is unlocked so you let yourselves in, before you call out, “Kurt we’re here!”

 

Penny comes out of the kitchen first and runs towards you both with a cry of, “Auntie F/N! Uncle Mycroft!” and Kurt, in a warlock costume, darts out of the kitchen now, before as you crouch down so that Penny can fling herself into your arms he calls, “Oh he’s not”- and then he breaks off when Matilda, dressed as a cute Egyptian mummy with her hair in pigtails, places a hand on his arm and looks a little smug as she informs Mycroft, “I've been teaching her to say your name.”

 

And Mycroft doesn't know what to say for a moment, then, “Oh, thank you,” he finally replies, looking a little flustered, before he looks down at where Penny is still hugging you in an attempt to feel less awkward. But he only feels more so because then he finds himself imagining you and him coming home to the house you live in together in his mind after a date and Kurt and Matilda having looked after your own daughter who runs towards you both… 

 

Then he breaks out of his thought at the sound of your voice asking, “Don’t you look amazing?” to Penny, who’s dressed as a witch and who lets go of you now to give a little twirl and the purple dress she’s wearing with silver cobwebs flaps up and down a little, before she blurts out, “Daddy made me a broomstick! Do you want to see it?” and when you nod she turns and hurries past both of her parents to retrieve it. 

 

Then when you straighten up again Matilda coos, “Oh your outfits are amazing! Don’t they look incredible Kurt?”

 

And Kurt looks at you both properly now, before after taking in the length of your dress he says, “Don’t you think that’s a bit short on a cold night?”

 

And, “I have warned her,” Mycroft tells him in a long suffering voice, before, “She didn't listen,” and your elbow jabs him in the stomach now and causes him to let out a little fluttery breath. 

 

Then, “It’s a pity you couldn't have warned me, before we left my flat,” you tell him, before you add, “But then again you were rather distracted weren't you?” and Matilda lets out a laugh now, whilst Kurt raises his eyebrows and Mycroft looks suitably abashed. 

 

But Penny comes back now, her wooden broomstick in hand, before she looks up at Matilda and asks, “What does dis-dis-distracted mean?”

 

So, “Oh,” Matilda breathes and she looks very amused now, before, “It’s nothing to worry about darling. Uncle Mycroft was just admiring how pretty Auntie F/N looks that’s all.”

 

And, “I've told you not to call him that, it’s going to confuse her,” Kurt groans, tugging at his hair in a frustrated fashion. 

 

Then, “Why can’t Mummy call him that Daddy?” Penny asks now. 

 

“Because he’s not your Uncle,” Kurt growls, but then Penny looks over at both Mycroft and you in confusion so Kurt explains tiredly, “They’re not married sweetheart.”

 

“Not yet anyway,” Matilda grins, which causes both Mycroft and you to blush, before you blurt out loudly, “Shouldn't we get going?” 

 

And Kurt looks as equally relieved as both Mycroft and you do when you all get moving and file out of the house. 

 

Then Kurt, Matilda and Penny take the lead as you walk down the street, with Mycroft and you holding hands about two paces behind them. 

 

And although at first you all go up to each door and give a cry of, “Trick or treat?!” with Mycroft only doing it because you dig your nails into his hand each time the door begins to open, as the night goes on and you get closer to finishing the walk around the neighbourhood Mycroft and you begin to hang back more, toying with each other’s costumes and sneaking in a kiss here and there when you can get away with it. 

 

And by the time you get to the end you’re itching to peel off his waistcoat and shirt and his eyes keep darting to your legs and wishing that tights didn't encase them so you say a hurried goodbye to Kurt and Matilda, before you both become a little unable to sit still on the public transport back. Then when you finally get back to your flat and close the door it’s only seconds before Mycroft’s lips find yours and he runs his hands through your h/c hair, whilst you tug off his waistcoat, and by the time you finally get to your bedroom there is a trail of clothes on the floor like the trail of breadcrumbs in Hansel and Gretel.

 

*

 

On Bonfire Night you dress more appropriately, wearing jeans and a thick f/c jumper over the thickest t-shirt that you own, along with the scarf and gloves that have quirky patterns all over them, which for some reason Mycroft seemed particularly keen for you to wear that night. Whilst he’s smartly dressed with a long dark woollen coat over his usual suit and a light blue tie that matches his eyes along with black leather gloves. 

 

Then when you get to the park where the weather is still underneath the dark sky that’s the colour of ink and there is no breeze, despite the chill in the air that hangs all around you, you make to lead Mycroft over to where a small crowd has already gathered but he tugs at your hand, before he leads you a short distance away to where the higher ground is. 

 

And although you’re initially confused and a bit like, _‘Why on earth are we going away from where everyone and everything is?’_ as soon as you stop and turn slightly to face the direction of the bonfire you realize what a good decision it was. For you can see the bonfire far more clearly from this angle. And you’re away too from the push and shove of the crowd, and though the smell of hot dogs makes your stomach rumble there is enough distance now between you and the smell of food to ignore it all better. Whilst it also feels much more calm and intimate too, like Mycroft and you are in your own private bubble. 

 

Then he rubs at your hand with his and just after the fireworks begin and you’re both standing there, your hands linked and your heads tilted up towards the sky, the low thrum of chatter acting as background noise, he says, “I stood in this exact spot last year,” and you look at him now to find that his eyes are on you carefully, before, “I watched as you came in and joined the back of the crowd and I was on the verge of going over to you and leading you back here. But in the end I didn’t,” he finishes. 

 

So, “What stopped you?” you ask him quietly now. 

 

And he looks past you for a moment, before his eyes fix on you again as he murmurs, “At the time I thought it was the crowd. But now I think I was probably just too scared to.”

 

But, “You were bold enough to call me beautiful,” you remind him reasonably. 

 

And, “I was,” he admits, before, “But then again that was just a fact I couldn't ignore,” he says and you smile a little now, before you tighten the grip of your hand on his and then stare up at the fireworks once more. 

 

*

 

It’s two weeks later and a Monday when Mycroft swallows and shifts uncomfortably from his position across the road from Kurt and Matilda’s house. But he doesn't stop for long, for he knows that if he does he’ll never do it. So he pushes himself forwards, whilst he thinks how weird it is to be here without you as he goes to knock on the door. 

 

It’s early evening so he hopes that Kurt and Matilda will both be in, or that Kurt at the very least will be at any rate, and that they don’t have any plans to go out for the evening. Whilst he also hopes that he’ll be able to make a good case to them quickly, for he’s supposed to be meeting you at your flat in just over an hour and a half and he doesn't want you to either worry or get suspicious if he runs late. 

 

Then he comes out of his thought completely as he hears shuffling noises coming from inside the house. So he shifts his position a little again and swallows, trying to stay calm and trying not to lose his composure even though he feels far more nervous about this than he did about meeting the Prime Minister for the first time. 

 

Then in the next moment the door opens to reveal Matilda, and if Mycroft wasn't feeling so nervous about everything then his lip might have quirked upwards in amusement at the look of puzzlement that crosses her face upon seeing him there. 

 

And, “Oh Mycroft, how nice to see you,” Matilda begins once she’s recovered, before she peers around a little bit now, and, “Is F/N here with you?” she asks as if you might be hiding somewhere and about to jump out at any moment. 

 

So, “Actually I was wondering if I could speak to your husband and you alone,” Mycroft gets out now and he is amazed by how pleasant and normal the words come out considering how nervous he is. 

 

Matilda still looks a little confused for a moment though, before a look of sudden wonder crosses her face and Mycroft thinks she might know now so he clears his throat anxiously, before he feels grateful to her when instead of bringing it up she just says, “Sure, come in,” a moment later and leads the way to the kitchen. 

 

Kurt’s there, sitting by the table, his back to them as they enter and, “Who was it honey?” he asks, not realizing that Mycroft’s in the kitchen until Mycroft clears his throat a little uncomfortably, and then Kurt does half-a-spin in his seat, whilst his body tenses and his brow furrows as his eyes come to fix darkly on his opponent. 

 

Then, “He said he’d like a word with us,” Matilda says to break the uncomfortable silence, before she gestures for Mycroft to sit opposite Kurt. 

 

But Mycroft remains standing as Kurt asks, “Where’s F/N? Is she okay? If you've”-

 

“She’s fine,” Mycroft tells him, before, “I'm not here asking for a third chance,” he says grudgingly and Matilda raises her eyebrows now, whilst she makes to dry some of the dishes from that night’s dinner, her eyes still fixing on both of the men as she does so. 

 

So, “Good,” Kurt tells him tersely. 

 

Then there’s another silence, before Mycroft sighs a little and nods at the chair opposite Kurt. And Kurt hesitates a moment, his eyes suspicious as they gaze at Mycroft, before he nods and so Mycroft goes across and the seat scrapes against the floor harshly as he pulls it back, before he sits down on it and rubs his clammy palms onto his trousers as he does so.

 

Then, “Right, well,” Mycroft begins, before he thinks that he might as well come straight out with it, so, “I came here tonight to ask for your permission to ask F/N to marry me.”

 

And, “No,” Kurt says at once and Mycroft swallows. 

 

But, “Kurt!” Matilda cries, swatting him with her dishcloth now and feeling disappointed in him for not even considering anything, let alone your happiness, before giving his answer. 

 

Yet he just brushes her attack off, before his eyes fix on Mycroft’s as he says, “But you probably knew that I’d say that, didn't you?” 

 

And Mycroft hesitates a moment, before he nods slowly. 

 

Then, “So I'm _betting_ ”- Kurt begins, before he breaks off as a flash of something strikes Mycroft’s face and so, “What’s wrong? Don’t you like that word?” Kurt asks with a mock innocence and Mycroft’s lips go very thin now, whilst his face flushes with colour and Matilda frowns at Kurt’s behaviour, before, “Anyway you've probably come up with a counter argument. So let’s hear it,” Kurt demands. 

 

And Mycroft just swallows and thinks carefully for a moment about what he wants to say, then, “I know you won’t think this very original of me, but I love her,” he begins, “And I know I've let her down during the time that I've known her, but I care for her so deeply and you have to believe me when I say that I would never wish any harm upon her”-

 

“You’re right,” Kurt interrupts him now, before he destroys the brief moment of hope that Mycroft feels with the words, “I don’t think any of that _is_ very original.”

 

And, _“Kurt,”_ Matilda groans despairingly. 

 

But Mycroft just swallows again and squares his shoulders a little. Then, “I know you don’t trust me,” he says and Kurt looks at him suspiciously, “And I know you’re worried that I’ll mess things up again and that you think I’ll never be good enough for her,” and he pauses for a moment now to draw his breath, before, “But do you really think that I’d be putting myself through this today if I just wanted to hurt her again? If I didn't care for her? If I didn't _love_ her? Do you really think I’d be asking her to marry me if I didn't feel all these things?” and Matilda stops drying the dishes now just to watch, whilst Kurt goes completely still as he studies him. So, “I love her more completely than I ever thought it was possible for me to love anyone,” Mycroft tells them before, “I want to spend the rest of my life loving her, caring for her, doing anything that will please her,” and he pauses now, for he can see that Kurt still isn't convinced, so, “Haven’t I at least, in the handful of times that we've met, shown you a fraction of my feelings towards her?”

 

But, “If you wanted to hurt her then you’d hardly do anything wrong in front of her family,” Kurt snipes. 

 

And Mycroft nearly lets a sigh escape him, before he opens his mouth, but before he can go on Matilda steps forwards and says, “I'm sorry Mycroft, but I've got to intervene, I can’t take this any more,” and Mycroft nods apprehensively now, so she turns to Kurt and asks, “Have you really not been paying attention to F/N during all the times we've seen them together?”

 

“Of course I have,” Kurt protests, “But”-

 

“Then you've seen how happy and untroubled she is when she’s with him have you?” Matilda questions and Kurt opens his mouth but she goes on, “You've seen the way her face lights up whenever she looks at him? You've seen how they can’t keep their hands off each other?” and she pauses for breath now, then, “So if you've seen all that then why on earth would you want to take all that happiness away from her?”

 

“I'm not saying that…they can still be together,” Kurt protests. 

 

“But if you keep telling Mycroft that he can’t propose to F/N, then pretty soon F/N’s going to start to wonder why this man, who loves her, isn't asking her to marry him. And she’s going to wonder if he’s really all that committed to her after all. Then it could go in two ways from that point on. They could argue about it and in that case it wouldn't be Mycroft’s fault, but yours Kurt. Or she could go ahead and propose to him herself. In which case we end up in the same position we are now but with a lot more drama and unneeded tension. And I don’t know about you but I happen to think that F/N deserves the most romantic proposal that Mycroft can give her and I don’t want to take that away from her. So?”

 

And Matilda’s speech ends so abruptly that for a moment Kurt just sits there opening and closing his mouth as he tries to figure things out, whilst Mycroft’s heart beats unevenly in his chest. 

 

Then, “Of course I want F/N to be happy,” Kurt says and, “Of course I want some guy one day to propose to her in the most romantic way, I'm just not sure”-

 

“If I'm that guy,” Mycroft interrupts him tersely now and Kurt nods. 

 

Then, “Oh _Kurt_ ”-

 

But, “Don’t say that,” Kurt interrupts Matilda now, “I'm just trying to look out for her. Can’t you see that?” and Matilda closes her mouth now, before Kurt continues, “She hasn't even sorted out her career yet, let alone got close to achieving her dream of being a writer and now this is all happening”-

 

“If she died in a year’s time,” Matilda says, “And I know it’s a grim thing to think of,” she adds when both Kurt and Mycroft, united for once, look very serious at the thought, “But if she died a year from now, would you rather have her achieve everything she wants to with her career or would you rather know that she at least had a short time with a person who loves her very deeply?” 

 

And Kurt huffs for a moment now, before he jerks his head about as if he’s shaking off a fly and runs a hand through his hair. Then, “Fine,” he says to Mycroft grudgingly, “You can ask her to marry you,” and Matilda waves her hands in the air now as if to say, _‘Hallelujah.’_ Then as Mycroft looks even more alert than he did already Kurt warns him, “But just because you marry her doesn't mean anything’s changed. If you mess up again I still won’t let you have a third chance.”

 

And Mycroft nods now, for he’d expected nothing less, but then he reminds Kurt, “She still has to say yes first.” 

 

And, “Oh,” Kurt breathes now, before he admits slyly, “I know she’ll say yes, that’s why I couldn't say it so easily.”

 

And a flicker of surprise crosses Mycroft’s face now. Then he gets up, before he murmurs, “Thank you,” and then as Kurt nods but doesn't look up at him he allows Matilda to show him out of the house. And they’re on the doorstep once more when Mycroft feels he has to say, “Thank you for what you did in there.”

 

So Matilda pats him on the arm briefly now, before she tells him, “He knows you love her, it’s just very deep down and something that he barely acknowledges.”

 

And Mycroft smiles a little now, before, “Thank you,” he tells her and then he nods and walks away. 

 

And as he crosses the road he checks the time once more. Then he speeds up his pace, for he’ll only make it to yours in time if he hurries.

 

*

 

You wake up that following day to the feel of Mycroft letting go of your waist, before he slips out of your bed. So you roll around, before you sit up a little and look at him questioningly. 

 

Then, “I've got to go back home to pick up a few things, before I head to work,” he tells you quietly as he slips his arms into his white shirt and does the buttons on it up with swift, nimble fingers, so, “I’ll see you later?” he asks. 

 

And, “Of course,” you reply sleepily, before you double-check, “Seven?” 

 

And, “Seven,” he agrees as he tugs his trousers on now and then once he’s finally dressed he comes around, kisses you gently on the lips and then goes to let himself out. 

 

You meanwhile slip back down into bed; close your eyes and fall back to sleep.

 

*

 

Sherlock barely pays any attention when he hears the door to the flat open, he just flicks his eyes up and then as soon as he sees it’s Mycroft he goes back to the folder of papers he’s been poring through and spreading out across the messy table as he tries to make sense of the latest case he’s helping Lestrade with. 

 

But a moment later Mycroft pulls up a chair by the other side of the table and sits down on it with a thud. 

 

Sherlock’s body tenses a little at the noise and the sudden intrusion, but he just carries on for a moment, whilst he waits for his brother to speak. But then, when Mycroft still hasn't spoken a couple of minutes later, choosing to just stare at him instead, Sherlock huffs a little, before he jerks his head upwards as he asks a little rudely, “Did you want something? Only I'm trying to work here.”

 

And Mycroft swallows now, before he announces, “I'm going to ask F/N to marry me tonight.” Then when Sherlock just looks down without a word and carries on rooting through the folder he asks, “Sherlock did you hear me?”

 

So Sherlock looks up at him impatiently now, then, “Yes, you’re going to ask F/N to marry you tonight. So what?”

 

And Mycroft looks away for a moment now, whilst his hand fiddles a little with the fabric of his trousers. Then he looks back at his brother and admits, “I suppose I was rather hoping you’d wish me luck or something similar.”

 

And Sherlock’s brows furrow now, before, “Why? Do you need it?” he asks. 

 

And Mycroft huffs a little, before, “Well she could say no, that’s an option for one thing”-

 

But Sherlock waves a hand at him now, then, “She won’t say no she loves you,” he says matter-of-factly and he’s about to look down again, but then he catches sight of the fearful glimmer in Mycroft’s eyes so his eyes fix on him properly once more. Then, “Oh don’t tell me,” Sherlock groans, “You've somehow managed to convince yourself that she doesn't love you, haven’t you?” and when Mycroft doesn't reply but the expression on his face says it all nonetheless Sherlock pulls a bit of a face, before he asks, “And you hardly got any sleep last night because you were thinking about it all, weren't you?”

 

So, “I was just staring at her, whilst she slept,” Mycroft begins thoughtfully, before, “Then I thought that even though she’s said she loves me that doesn't mean she wants to spend the rest of her life with me”- he continues.

 

But, “Supposedly,” Sherlock interjects. 

 

And, “Hmm?” Mycroft says as his eyes flicker slightly as he comes out of his thought now. 

 

So, “That doesn't mean she wants to _supposedly_ spend the rest of her life with you. A lot of marriages end in divorce after all,” Sherlock informs him. 

 

And, “Yes, thank you for that,” Mycroft tells him, before he muses once more, “She might be viewing our relationship as a way of getting experience, before the real thing comes along.”

 

And, “Oh please,” Sherlock says now, before he quotes, “ _‘Getting experience, before the real thing comes along?’_ You haven’t seen the way she looks at you, have you? I mean, admittedly I try to avoid looking at F/N when she gets that look on her face for you. It makes me feel nauseous. But every time I see it the one thing it tells me is that she couldn't be any more in love with you. So forgive me for not wishing you luck or for not doubting that she’ll say yes tonight because she will,” Sherlock finishes with certainty, before he goes back to his folder once more. 

 

And for a moment Mycroft just looks at him. Then, “Thank you,” he murmurs as a feeling of relief trickles through him. For even in the way that it was said Mycroft thinks that it was exactly what he needed to hear. 

 

Sherlock just nods. 

 

*

 

It’s time to get up for your own work. So you roll over, press a sleepy hand to quieten the alarm clock and then sit up properly, before you clamber out of bed. 

 

Then you’re fully dressed and have just gone to grab your watch from the bedside cabinet when you notice a small piece of paper beside it. So you frown a little, before you pick it up and read: **Once upon a time there were, as we well know by now, a man called Mycroft Holmes and a beautiful woman called F/N M/N L/N.** And you can’t help but smile at it even though you still feel confused when you put it back down. For although you know that Mycroft must have left it for you without you even noticing, before he left for work, you can’t help but wonder why? But as you catch sight of the time there’s little of it to think about the situation in depth right now so you just carry on getting ready. 

 

When you get to work though, much to your surprise, there’s another piece of paper waiting for you on your desk. This one says: **Mycroft loved F/N very much.** And you blush a little now, before you push it into your bag, though not before the man who sits next to you asks, “Is there something you need to tell us?” suggestively with a raised eyebrow and you shake your head quickly, before you sit down. 

 

Thoughts of Mycroft and what his notes mean though drift through your mind all morning though, and then at lunchtime when you’re finally able to have a chance to think about it all more clearly you are thrown again because there is another slip of paper waiting for you, this time inside your lunch box: **Actually to say that he loved her didn't go far enough. For he loved her completely** , the paper says. And your heart skips a beat now, before as you tuck it away safely a smile plays around your lips. For although you still don’t know what Mycroft’s plotting you’re starting to get the feeling that this could be leading somewhere very nice indeed. 

 

So when he comes over that night, looking as smart as ever in a black suit, white shirt and silver tie you only make it until you’re eating together by the small table, before you look at him and say, “So I guess I was wondering about the notes today?”

 

And Mycroft’s heart skips a little beat, before he glances at you briefly and then looks back down at his food as he says, “I was hoping to explain myself to you after dinner.”

 

So, “Okay,” you say quietly, trusting him as his eyes flick up to yours again. 

 

Then when you’re on the settee together and there are two glasses of red wine on the coffee table Mycroft, with his arm around your shoulder, looks down at you, before he says, “As you've been reading all day Mycroft loved F/N very much. But one day he felt that just feeling that inside himself and knowing it wasn't enough and that he needed to show her,” and you look up at him now. “So he thought and thought and then finally it occurred to him that he could carry out what F/N had told him her perfect Valentine’s Day would be, even though it wasn't Valentine’s Day. He still knew that he needed to add something to make it even more special though. So he had the idea of the notes and he hoped that they would bring a smile to her face throughout the day.”

 

And, “They did,” you tell him, and you think you know now, but even so you have to prompt him tentatively, “But why did he _really_ feel the need to do all of that to begin with?”

 

“Because,” and Mycroft lets out a little fluttery breath now as his heart pounds in his chest, “He wanted to ask you a question.” 

 

And your breath hitches in your chest now and you can barely get out the words, “So what was the question?”

 

Then in the next moment your head spins as Mycroft moves his arm from around your shoulder, takes a small, red velvet box out of his jacket pocket and swings around so that he is down on one knee, before he flips the box open gently and asks, “F/N M/N L/N will you marry me?” 

 

And you let out a couple of breaths now, before you swallow and your eyes dart down to the ring, before they go back to his face and latch onto his slightly fearful eyes. Then, “Yes,” you breathe and a moment later he’s exhaling in relief and leaning across to kiss you and then somehow you’re both standing and clutching on to each other, before with slightly trembling fingers he’s slipping the ring onto your finger for the first time.

 

And, “It’s beautiful,” you breathe as you look down at the silver ring, which has two strands that cross over each other and a small diamond stud jutting out from its centre and he smiles at you tenderly now, before he guides you back onto the settee where, content to just snuggle and take everything in, you nestle against each other. 

 

*

 

“She said yes,” Mycroft announces as soon as he gets home that night and Sherlock looks up from where he’s polishing his violin as he sits on the armchair. 

 

“And of course she did, she loves you,” Sherlock says as if Mycroft was a fool for ever doubting such a thing. But then, “Good luck telling Mummy,” he quips. 

 

And Mycroft’s face pales now, for he knows that as soon as he tells Mummy there will be no getting out of bringing you to meet her, whilst he also knows that Mummy will only be more furious not to have met you already by this point. 

 

So, thinking that he might as well get it over with, he runs a hand over his face, before he gets his mobile out of his pocket and makes to go and sit down by the table. But Sherlock, worried that Mycroft might knock something over with his latest experiment, stands hurriedly and then with his violin and polish still in his hands he scurries over to the table. So Mycroft raises an eyebrow at him, before he goes to sit on the armchair instead. Then after a bit of a breath he calls Mummy. 

 

“Hello? Mikey is that you?” Mummy calls down the phone a moment later. 

 

And, “Yes Mummy,” he tells her dutifully.

 

“How are you? How’s F/N?” Mummy asks as she’s taken to doing whenever Mycroft calls her now.

 

So, “We’re both fine thank you,” he replies, before he goes on a little hesitantly, “Actually I'm calling because I have some news.”

 

“Well go on,” she urges. 

 

And Mycroft swallows now as he tries to ignore Sherlock’s gaze on him and the pressure he can feel from the whole thing building up inside him, before he announces as evenly as he can, “I asked F/N to marry me tonight and she said yes,” and then his face scrunches at once because Mummy releases a side-splitting squeal down the phone.

 

Then, “Oh my God Mikey that’s wonderful, that’s so wonderful, wait a minute, I’ll just tell your father,” and he smiles a little now in spite of himself as he hears her voice telling his father from a distance, then she’s back and, “Oh my gosh, he’s thrilled Mikey, we’re both so thrilled for you, oh, a wedding!” and then she asks more shrewdly, “Does this mean I’ll be receiving my first grandchild soon too?”

 

And a flush crosses Mycroft’s face now, before, “It’s still”-

 

Yet, “Don’t you dare say anything about it still being early days Mikey, because it’s far from early days if you've asked her to marry you,” she overrules him now. 

 

But, “Still I don’t think that’s quite on the agenda just yet,” Mycroft protests.

 

Then, “Well maybe after this,” she muses, before the thrill of it all fills her again and she rushes out, “Oh, I’ll have to figure out what I'm going to wear and I’ll have to make sure your father looks smart because you know how scruffy he always looks at these things,” and Mycroft lets her carry on for a bit, before she finally draws breath and then when a new thought fills her she announces, “Well, you can hardly hide her from me any longer now,” so, “When will I get to meet her?” she asks.

 

And Mycroft swallows now, before he considers, “I was thinking Christmas?” because that way everyone will be pretty busy and no doubt Sherlock will be there too so the focus won’t just be on him introducing you, which will hopefully make it more comfortable for the pair of you. 

 

But, “That’s still so far away,” she protests.

 

Yet, “It’s only just over a month away,” he reminds her.

 

So, “All right,” she concedes, before she warns him, “But don’t go changing your mind about bringing her because there’ll be no dinner for you and definitely no dessert if you do.”

 

“I won’t,” he tells her in a rather less than even voice and Sherlock snorts so Mycroft throws him a dark look, before he listens as Mummy carries on talking about how excited she is. 

 

And the first thing Sherlock says when Mycroft finally gets off the phone, looking ready for a brandy, is, “Well I hope neither you nor F/N wanted full creative control of the wedding because you've just lost it.”

 

And Mycroft rolls his eyes. 

 

**25th December**

 

“You look beautiful,” Mycroft says as he peers down at the way you’re tugging on your dress to get it to fit more comfortably on your body as you walk down the street together, one of your arms through his. 

 

But, “What if they don’t like me?” you say, feeling anxious and frustrated about the whole thing and you stop tugging on your dress with your free hand for a moment now to look up at him, before you add, “Are you really sure it was a good idea for me to wear this dress?”

 

“Of course they’ll like you,” Mycroft informs you firmly, before he quips, “They have excellent taste,” and then, “And you know I like that dress on you,” he says, “It’s plain and simple and it doesn't detract from you. So there’s no reason why anyone else should not like it.”

 

You nod and swallow now and try to take his words in and let them reassure you, but you can’t help but still feel anxious about it all anyway. For what if Mycroft’s parents don’t like you? If they don’t think you’re good enough? Or if they just take against you for whatever reason? You don’t want to come between Mycroft and his family. And you suppose then that maybe you’d have to call the wedding off, or at the very least have a very long engagement and hope that they’d come to see that-

 

“F/N?” Mycroft cuts through your thoughts and you gaze up into his eyes now, before you swallow, then, “You’re sending yourself into a panic and there’s really no need”-

 

So, “Aren't you nervous?” you blurt out now.

 

And, “Of course I am,” he tells you, but, “I'm not nervous of you letting me down though because I know you won’t. I think I'm more nervous about the close proximity that Sherlock and you will be in over the next couple of days actually.”

 

But, “There’s no need to worry about that,” you tell him, and he knows that you know that he’s referring to his old insecurity as well as the chance that Sherlock might be rude to you now, before you add more certainly, “I can handle Sherlock.”

 

So, “Perhaps we’re both just worrying over nothing?” he suggests.

 

And you smile at his little trick now, before you take a little breath and then conclude, “Perhaps,” and he smiles at you. 

 

You reach Mycroft’s parents house a moment later and you’re surprised to see how cosy and small it all looks from the outside and you know that whatever you expected this most definitely wasn't it. 

 

And you don’t even have to knock either because as soon as you reach the end of the small path the door is flung open and a woman who must be Mycroft’s mother sweeps you up into her arms before, “Oh how wonderful it is to get to meet you at last!” she tells you. And then she leans back from you a little and takes you all in, whilst a blush takes over your face, before she adds, “You’re very pretty dear, I can see why Mycroft likes you.” 

 

And with your face burning you say, “Oh thank you, it’s good to meet you too.”

 

Then Mycroft covers a potential moment of awkward silence by saying, “Thank you for asking about my welfare,” in a sardonic tone, which causes Mummy to bat him on the arm fondly, before she says, “Oh you! Of course I'm glad to see you!” and then you all enter the cottage with a bit of a smile and you feel far more relaxed at this point than you ever thought you’d feel. 

 

Mycroft’s father hugs you next and you feel amazed by how warm and accepting they’re being of you as if you've always belonged there and you’re not meeting then for the first time but rather for the tenth or something. 

 

And then of course, “Ah, here at last, are you brother dear?” comes Sherlock’s voice from one of the armchairs and he stands up now to take you both in, before he asks Mycroft with a bit of a smirk, “Weren't getting distracted were you?” and Mycroft’s hand slides around your waist protectively now. 

 

Then, “F/N was a little nervous,” he says lightly. 

 

So, “Oh dear, there’s no need to be nervous,” Mummy tells you now, before she says, “I tell you what, why don’t I fetch us all a small glass of sherry and then you can tell us all about yourself?” she nods now. 

 

And, “That sounds lovely,” you say politely now with a rather weak smile and Mycroft’s hand reaches to squeeze your shoulder, before he lets go of you completely and goes to sit down on the settee where you join him a moment later.

 

Then when everyone’s sitting down, albeit reluctantly in Sherlock’s case because he keeps fidgeting and crossing his legs and then uncrossing them again, you tentatively begin to tell them about your family, a bit about your background and what job you do-

 

“But that’s not the job F/N really wants Mummy. She wants to be a writer,” Mycroft interrupts proudly. 

 

And, “Oh, how interesting!” Mummy exclaims, before she goes on to say that she’s written books herself, “Though they’re all about mathematics,” she states, and then she asks about what sorts of things you write about and you can’t help but feel encouraged by her because she actually sounds like she’s really interested and not just being polite and Mycroft smiles at how more confident and comfortable you seem. 

 

Then a little later you tentatively begin to talk about how Mycroft and you first came into contact with each other because, after all it is the reason that you’re there in the first place, so you feel you should at least touch on it and you also want them to know how much you love their son too and how you’d never want to hurt him. 

 

But, “Oh Christ, I can’t listen to any more,” Sherlock groans and you cut off suddenly and Mycroft sends his brother a very dark look, whilst Mummy says, “Don’t be so rude Sherlock!” but, “No, I'm not being rude,” Sherlock says with a little wave of his hands now, “It’s just I've heard all about it before, in fact I've lived through it since I was there for most of it.”

 

And you flush now, which causes Mycroft to feel even more irritated by his brother, so he says, “Even so brother dear, F/N wanted to talk about it and she had every right to, so you will not interrupt”-

 

“Oh won’t I?” Sherlock interrupts because he just can’t help himself. 

 

And, “No,” Mycroft says firmly, whilst you feel uncomfortable and sink as far back into the settee as you can go. 

 

Then Sherlock and Mycroft just stare at each other darkly and you can tell that even though they’re not talking out loud any more something is still being said between them, before Sherlock breaks off eye contact suddenly and Mycroft looks triumphant. 

 

So, “You may continue if you wish,” Mycroft turns to tell you, before he can’t help but add, “The problem has been dealt with,” and so after a little hesitation in which your eyes take in the sight of Sherlock sinking back into his seat, before he looks off moodily to the side, you do until Christmas lunch is ready. 

 

Then you’re all too busy eating and pulling crackers to talk much, before Mycroft’s father sneaks back into the living room just after lunch to watch the Queen’s Speech. And although Mummy tuts at him she lets him go. 

 

Then, “You must have some of my punch,” she tells you.

 

And, “It really is rather good,” Mycroft tells you when you look at him and so you smile and accept a glass. 

 

Then, “Whilst we have a quiet moment I’ll just go and check that everything’s ready for you both in the spare bedroom,” Mummy says.

 

And as soon as she bustles off and it is just Mycroft, Sherlock and you left by the table and you’re the only one out of the three of them wearing an orange paper hat from the crackers, Sherlock can’t help but say, “And if I hear more than one creak from your room tonight I’ll be taking the first taxi I can get back home.”

 

So Mycroft lifts his head now from where he was sipping his punch as Sherlock was talking and says somewhat conversationally, “Your thoughts have been noted, though I hardly think they’re needed. After all we’re hardly going to do anything with Mummy and Father here.”

 

But Sherlock doesn't look convinced by his words, before much to Mycroft’s chagrin he expresses his thoughts by stating with a cool sort of indifference, “The way you keep touching her says differently,” and Mycroft’s hand jerks off from where its been resting on your knee now, before both he and you turn a little away from each other, a blush on both of your faces as you both become suddenly pre-occupied with drinking the punch. 

 

It is this scene, which Mummy comes back to and her eyes go to Sherlock immediately with suspicion, but he just raises his eyebrows at her in a most innocent fashion so she just lets out a bit of a sigh, before she says to both Mycroft and you, “Your room should be fine.”

 

So, “Thank you,” you both recite awkwardly, before you both hope that things will swiftly become less awkward now that Mummy’s back on the scene. 

 

But, “Oh,” she says now as an afterthought occurs to her, whilst she begins to collect and stack the dirty plates, before she turns her head back slightly to look at you both, “And don’t worry about anything, the walls might not look it but they’re extremely thick here and I'm very good at getting lost in my thoughts so you’re both free to do as you wish.”

 

And both Mycroft and you are too mortified to even respond to such a statement so you just carry on looking away from each other, whilst your hands fidget together and Mycroft’s eyes widen in a horrified fashion. 

 

But, “Oh I don’t think you need to worry about that Mummy,” Sherlock says as he nods at you both and Mummy looks at him now, before she shakes her head a little at the smirk on his face and then mimes strangling him. 

 

And Sherlock just grins. Then he lets out a bark of laughter when his father returns and looks at the way Mycroft and you are still looking away from each other determinedly, before he raises his eyebrows and looks at both Sherlock and his wife as if to ask, _‘What have I missed?’_

 

*

 

Things thankfully get into a more relaxed state again as after sorting out the dishes and the leftovers you all while away some time in the living room, whilst you talk in between browsing through what’s on, on the television. And although Mycroft and you start by sitting a respectable distance away from each other on the settee as you get more comfortable again you slide across to him and he puts an arm around you, whilst Sherlock quickly turns his amused snort into a cough and Mummy looks at the pair of you fondly. 

 

Then after three-quarters-of-an hour of this you all go out for a stroll together, before it gets too dark and then upon your return rather than going back outside Sherlock lingers on the small path leading to the house so Mycroft hesitates, looks back at him, and tells you, “I’ll see you in the house,” and you nod uncertainly, before you follow Mycroft’s parents inside. 

 

Then a moment later Mycroft and Sherlock are standing together in a companionable silence as they smoke when Mycroft says conversationally, “It’s only natural to want someone you know, no matter what we’re like,” as he looks sideways at Sherlock. 

 

And, “I don’t”- is Sherlock’s immediate reaction but-

 

“It was wrong of me to be so flippant about it before, just after you came out of hospital,” Mycroft continues as if he hadn’t been interrupted. Then he pauses for a moment, before, “There’s no reason why you shouldn’t find someone Sherlock. After all,” he muses, “Look what’s happened to me.”

 

And Sherlock gives a tiny nod now, before he shakes himself a little, looks away and finishes his cigarette. Then after he crushes it beneath his heel he says, “I think the combination of that walk followed by this cigarette must have addled your brain Mycroft. I’m perfectly content as I am,” and then, looking far from happy, he turns away and strides back inside. 

 

But, “That’s what I used to think too,” Mycroft says sadly, before he finishes his cigarette and goes back inside too. 

 

He finds you in the kitchen chatting amenably with Mummy, whilst you place some mince pies onto a large plate and he goes across to kiss you, but before he can you draw away a little at the smell of smoke on his breath. And Mummy looks across at once at the hesitation and frowns, before she says, “I hope you and your brother haven’t been smoking outside Mikey.”

 

And, “Of course we haven’t Mummy,” Mycroft says conversationally, before he half-glances at you as you wrinkle your nose and then looks back at Mummy as he continues, “I just caught F/N off guard that’s all, didn't I F/N?” and he gives you a meaningful look now so you nod, and then with rather no choice in the matter with Mummy looking on suspiciously his hand curls around your wrist delicately, before he kisses you briefly. 

 

Then you smile when you draw apart and try not to blink as Mummy looks at the pair of you. 

 

But once she nods with satisfaction and goes to take some glasses of sherry through to the living room you whisper, “Don’t make me do that again,” in an angry fashion to Mycroft, before you pull your hand away from his and move around him to pick up the plate of mince pies. Then you take them into the living room and leave him staring after you. 

 

Relations between Mycroft and you thaw quickly enough though, much to Mycroft’s relief, and the rest of the night is most enjoyable as you end up playing board and card games long into the night. 

 

And when it is just Mycroft and you left playing Cluedo as everyone else has been eliminated, before he wins, he smiles at you mischievously and you know that he’s recalling the text conversation that you’d shared so long ago. The one where you’d pretended that you’d be a sore loser if you ever played a board game together, before you’d supposed that you’d have to give him something that he wanted if he won.

 

And as the board game is being packed away to make room for the next one he whispers seductively into your ear, “I think I’ll claim my reward as soon as we get to your flat.”

 

Your lip quirks upwards now, but then, “Oh do you now?” you murmur so that only he can hear.

 

And he looks delighted by your response, before, _“Yes,”_ he whispers fervently into your ear, “In fact, if it’s all the same with you, I think I’ll claim it, before you can even unpack from this little excursion.”

 

Yet, “Mr. Holmes, you should know by now how important my unpacking is to me,” you tease and his head automatically tilts closer to yours now, but then-

 

Sherlock coughs and you both jerk back from each other a little to see Mummy looking delighted, her face slightly flushed as she stares at the pair of you, Mycroft’s father smiling but looking a little uncomfortable all the same and Sherlock wearing a long suffering kind of look as he raises his eyebrows. 

 

So Mycroft and you smile at each other sheepishly for a moment, before he looks away and clears his throat in an embarrassed fashion, then, “What game are we playing next Mummy?” Mycroft asks as he slips an arm around your waist.

 

And everything carries on nicely until you let out a bit of a yawn and Mycroft suggests that it might be time for bed and Sherlock rolls his eyes. So you say goodnight to everyone and thank Mummy in particular for the meal, before you slip into the spare room and get ready for bed. 

 

And you've only been on your side in the dark for a couple of minutes when Mycroft’s hands come to slip around your waist and he holds you tightly to him, so tightly in fact that you can feel his heart somewhere on your back, so you say to him sleepily, before words can escape you altogether, “Today was a good day.”

 

And, “Yes it was,” he murmurs and you can feel his breath tickling your hair, before you fall asleep, warm in his arms.

 

*

 

**April 24th**

 

You’re sitting on the settee in your flat but nothing is holding your attention, so finally, whilst you feel uncertain about whether it’s the right thing to do, you pick up your phone and text: _Mycroft?_

 

Mycroft’s sitting in the armchair, a glass of whisky in his hand, when his phone vibrates harshly against his chest, and so he places his glass down and takes his phone out of his pocket. When he sees it’s from you though his mind begins to panic. For nothing can be wrong now surely? So, **Yes? Is everything all right?** He sends urgently. 

 

And, _Yes, of course, it’s just this is really weird isn't it?_ You reply a little impatiently now, despite the fact that you can’t help but feel relieved that he’d responded straight away. 

 

And Mycroft sighs a little now, before he decides that he better remind you, **Yes it is, but F/N are we really supposed to be talking to each other now?** For he feels a little worried about breaking such rules just in case something goes wrong. 

 

 _Well_ , and you flick your h/c hair back from your face now, before you continue tapping, _I think tradition states that we’re not supposed to see each other the night, before the wedding. I don’t think it said anything about texting._

 

And a smirk quirks Mycroft’s lips now, before he replies, **Probably because texting wasn't invented then.**

 

So, _Yes very funny,_ you tap as a little amused kind of huff escapes your lips, before you add, _But saying that if you feel strongly about not talking to each other until tomorrow then I’ll stop straight away,_ because you don’t want to do anything to make him feel uncomfortable. 

 

And Mycroft thinks things through now, before he decides that now you've started talking to each other he’s rather keen not to stop. Then he looks up momentarily because he can feel Sherlock’s eyes on him and of course his brother is looking across at him with raised eyebrows and a knowing smirk. So, **Oh, no I don’t mind. And I think even if the pair of us didn't see this text conversation coming then Sherlock did.**

 

So, _Oh what’s he doing?_ You ask, automatically feeling more relaxed now. 

 

And Mycroft looks up again, before, **Glancing up at me and rolling his eyes as if he’s disappointed about how obvious I'm being,** he sends. 

 

And you can’t help but smirk now, before, _Well don’t be too hard on him. He has made a surprisingly organized best man after all,_ you reason. 

 

 **That’s true, though he is still my brother so being hard on him comes naturally** , Mycroft replies, and then when you don’t text back after a few minutes he begins to get a little worried so he sends, **F/N?**

 

And when your phone buzzes you come out of your thought with a jolt, before you hurriedly explain, _Oh, sorry, I was just thinking, this is kind of nice isn't it? Texting each other like this. It feels like we’re back at the start_ , and there’s something weirdly satisfying about this feeling. 

 

 **It is and it does. Though I have to admit I'm glad in some ways that we’re not and we’re where we are** , Mycroft confesses. 

 

And, _Why’s that?_ You ask, though as a smile plays around your lips you’re pretty sure that you already know. 

 

So, **Well there is the fact that I can kiss you now, along with the small fact that tomorrow you’ll be Mrs. Holmes of course** , Mycroft admits and he feels more satisfied than he could have ever imagined he’d feel just from typing ‘Mrs. Holmes.’

 

So, _Mrs. Holmes!_ You send, before you wrinkle your nose a little and then ask, _Gosh does that make me sound old do you think?_

 

And, **No of course it doesn't!** Mycroft sends, before he makes up his mind to, after tomorrow, call you Mrs. Holmes as much as possible and make you see that it doesn't make you sound old in the slightest. Then he adds with a little sigh, **Though I must, once again, apologise for the brother-in-law that you’ll be gaining tomorrow.**

 

And the smile’s back on your face now as you send, _Yes, when I agreed to marry you I must admit I rather overlooked the fact that if I said yes I’d then be linked to Sherlock forever._ And you can’t help but add, _Sally was horrified when she realized. She sent me a text one day from work, I think I might have told you before, but anyway it said something like, ‘Oh my God I just realized something,’ and I thought something terrible had happened so I texted her back straight away and then she was like, ‘You do realize that once you’re married you’ll be related to Sherlock?’_

 

 **Again I send you my apologies** , Mycroft sends, although he can’t help but smile at your story, despite the fact that yes, he’s heard it before. 

 

Then, _Oh no, really it’s okay_ , you send, because you can’t help but feel that you’re being a little harsh on Sherlock and not really appreciating everything he’s done, so you add, _He has been very generous with his time to help us organize everything after all._

 

And, **Yes I didn't quite realize he’d take such an interest** , Mycroft replies sardonically. 

 

 _Neither did the paper napkins_ , you quip back. 

 

And, **Oh God don’t remind me F/N. I think Mummy was so thrilled by his capabilities that now she’s hoping he’ll get married too** , and the very thought makes a little groan escape his lips and Sherlock looks up at him sharply now and Mycroft can tell as he looks at him that Sherlock thinks you’re sending dirty texts to each other. 

 

So, “You needn't look so worried,” Mycroft tells Sherlock, before he quips, “I can assure you that all our texts are, as they say, _family_ friendly.”

 

“Then make sure they stay that way,” Sherlock tells him evenly, before he can’t help but add, “I can’t have you getting… _excited_ …when I can’t even send you over to F/N.”

 

And Mycroft rolls his eyes now, before he looks down at his phone as it buzzes to see that you have sent, _That would be one interesting wedding_ , oblivious to the drama occurring between him and Sherlock right at that moment.

 

Then, **Plus one very unlucky bride** , Mycroft can’t help but send back, before he looks back up at his brother and states somewhat coolly, “I can assure you brother dear that the only thing I am, _excited_ about, as you so quaintly put it, is the wedding tomorrow.”

 

And, “Good,” Sherlock replies, before he goes back to his chemicals once more. 

 

And Mycroft’s response makes you giggle so much that it is with very clumsy fingers that you end up sending, _Shush you!_ But when Mycroft still hasn't responded a few minutes later you send anxiously, _Mycroft? I didn't actually mean shush!_ Whilst you hope that he hasn't taken offence by your words and suddenly you think that maybe it wasn't the wisest thing to text him after all, because what if you end up falling out the night before the wedding? But- 

 

 **Sorry, I think it still hasn't properly hit me what tomorrow is despite us talking about it now and having been planning everything for months,** Mycroft confesses. 

 

And in relief you send, _It is rather bizarre isn't it?_ Before you send, _Do you want to talk about something else? Would that be better?_

 

And although Mycroft thinks about it, in the end he sends a wistful, **No, I think I’d like to reminisce about us actually.**

 

And your eyebrows rise a little now, whilst a smile plays around your lips as you send a teasing, _Getting sentimental in your old age?_

 

But, **Only for you F/N** , Mycroft sends earnestly and he wishes that you were there in front of him now so that he could see the teasing expression on your face and kiss you. 

 

And your heart swells a little now; whilst a blush crosses your face at the feeling behind his text before, _So which part of us would you like to reminisce about?_ You ask.

 

And Mycroft thinks about it all for a moment, before he mouths, ‘Back to the start,’ to himself as he settles upon, **The very first time you phoned me, I think. I just remember thinking how odd it was to see a number that I didn't recognize because it was so long since I’d had one of those. I had no idea what was about to happen, isn't that strange? How one phone call can just completely change everything like that?** And the huge reality of it all hits him now. For what if you’d never been given that number? What if he’d chosen not to answer it? Or what if both of those things had happened but you’d never carried on talking to each other? Then as he comes out of his thought and realizes that you still haven’t replied he sends, **F/N?** For he can’t know that the reality of it all has hit you too. 

 

And you take a little breath and wipe a stray tear from your eye as you send, _Sorry, your words just made me suddenly feel very emotional about all this._

 

And Mycroft swallows a little as he reads your text, before panicking a little he sends, **Oh, I didn't mean, I'm very sorry, are you okay?** Because the last thing he wants to do is upset you, especially tonight. 

 

And a chuckle escapes your lips now, before you send earnestly, _Yes of course I am you idiot! I'm getting married to you tomorrow! And please don’t stop talking about us. I’ll try to reply quicker next time I promise._

 

So feeling a little reassured Mycroft sends, **In that case do you remember the first time we began telling the story of us?**

 

Warmth fills you as you remember, then, _Of course. It was after the first time we argued. And I just remember feeling so warm and comforted by it all. It’s one of my favourite memories of us actually. I can still remember how the light rain sounded on one side and how your breathing sounded on the other and how it made me all feel._

 

 **And how did it make you feel?** Mycroft texts tenderly now. 

 

So you swallow now, before you confess certainly, _Happy. Content. I think actually it was the most content I’d felt in a long time. I didn't feel worried about anything in that moment. It just felt like everything would be okay._

 

And Mycroft smiles and closes his eyes a little now, just feeling thankful that somehow he’d managed to make you feel that way, then, **I'm glad** , he confesses, before, **One of my favourite memories of you, before we met, will always be that Bonfire Night.**

 

 _When you told me I was beautiful?_ You send now with a small smile. 

 

 **Yes!** He sends and when you read the word it is like Mycroft has just whispered it with conviction into your ear and you shiver a little, before you read on, **I just remember how wondrous it felt to be able to text you and then look up and actually see you there. I’ll never forget how the light from the fireworks illuminated you and made your hair shine.**

 

And another tear slides down your face now because you feel so grateful that this man came into your life and if you can’t feel grateful for him the night before your wedding to him then when can you? So, _I think you’re making me fall even more in love with you_ , you send. 

 

And your text makes a satisfied kind of growl leave Mycroft’s throat and Sherlock looks up at him again in alarm, before, **Good** , Mycroft sends. 

 

Then, “I think those texts just became less family friendly,” Sherlock mutters darkly to himself as he wonders whether he should try to confiscate his brother’s phone or not. But then, just a moment later, he decides against it, for he’d then have to put up with an anxious and irritated Mycroft, which he knows is not a good combination and which would definitely not help him in the completion of his current experiment. 

 

Mycroft meanwhile just rolls his eyes at his brother’s words, but he does not speak, for another text from you has just come through. 

 

 _And then of course there’s the time we actually met_ , you go on, _I'm not sure if I've ever told you but I must have spent at least ten minutes, probably a lot more, just wondering if I’d not understood what Sherlock told me._

 

 **Yes, I do remember thinking that you were taking a while** , Mycroft sends now and the casualness of his words in no way reveals the tense kind of panic and uncertainty that he remembers feeling as he stood waiting for you in your flat. And he remembers now all the silly images such as that of Sherlock and you talking outside the café and you deciding that you liked Sherlock better, before you both decided to run off together there and then that had run through his head. Thank God that they had just turned out to be silly images conjured by his panic and that you had shown up after all, he thinks now.

 

Oblivious to all these thoughts that your text had made run through Mycroft’s head however, you send, _Yeah, at first I was certain that you’d be outside the block of flats that I live in. Then when I couldn't see you there I convinced myself that you’d be waiting for me outside my flat. And when you weren't there either I didn't have a clue about what to do next_ , before you add a little slyly, _Speaking of that time I don’t think I've ever told you off for breaking into my flat?_

 

And Mycroft swallows now, whilst he hopes that you’re not really going to argue with him about that tonight, before he sends hurriedly, **Perhaps now is not the time to discuss that? But in my defence I did it for the best of reasons.**

 

And a smile plays around your face now as you picture his sudden expression of alarm, before, _Yes, okay, I’ll let you off there. Then of course there’s the first time you met Kurt, Matilda and Penny. I don’t think I've ever seen anyone so nervous about meeting my brother before by the way_ , you can’t help but tease. 

 

So, **I could say the same about you meeting Mummy** , Mycroft is quick to point out. 

 

And, _Touché_ , you send, feeling impressed by the sharpness of his response. 

 

 **But then there are also the pleasanter memories I have of you after we met** , Mycroft sends and when you read it you can almost feel him speaking the words to you and feel how his breath would have tickled your ear, before his lips would have moved to caress yours and then moved down to your neck. 

 

And you shake yourself a little now, before, _Such as?_ You reply and if you’d been speaking the words then you’d have struggled to keep your voice even. 

 

 **Such as our first time and my proposal to you** , Mycroft sends matter-of-factly, though the words he sends evoke strong memories in both of you. 

 

But you don’t feel it’s appropriate to talk about such feelings over text so, _Good choices_ , you send. 

 

 **And then there’s tomorrow** , Mycroft sends, and if he’d said it then there would have been a little lift of wonder in his voice by the sentence’s end. 

 

 _Then there’s tomorrow_ , you agree as your heart does a little flip in anticipation. 

 

So, **I believe this is where our conversation ends for now. Therefore, if this is the last time I get to say it, goodnight F/N M/N L/N** , and the whole thing feels very final even though you know that really it isn't. 

 

And, _Goodnight Mr. Holmes_ , you send. 

 

*

 

When Mycroft wakes that morning he reaches to pick up his phone from where it’s resting on his bedside cabinet, before he rolls onto his stomach, and although he knows your number off by heart he’s not exactly sure what he wants to say to you, he just knows that he wants to hear your voice, so rather than phoning you straight away he scrolls through his contact list to find you. But he misses your details on the first go and so he tuts a little, before he scrolls through them again impatiently. And that’s when he realizes that you’re not there. So with a little panic rising in and pressing tightly against his chest he hurries out of bed and pulls on his dressing gown. Then he strides out of his bedroom to see Sherlock sitting in his usual spot by the table so he calls across, “Sherlock did you go through my phone?”

 

But, “Why would I go through your phone?” Sherlock asks him in a disgusted tone as he looks up at him, before he turns back to his chemicals. 

 

And Mycroft frowns now, not because of Sherlock’s words, but because something about his brother seems different and changed but he just can’t figure out what, so he leaves the issue of his phone for a moment, before he says, “You should phone Lestrade.” 

 

And Sherlock looks up at him again, his face questioning, before something dark crosses his face and then, “Who’s Lestrade?” he asks, before he snipes, “Another psychiatrist you've found that will make me all better?” 

 

And Mycroft’s heart clenches in his chest now because something is most definitely not right here and as Sherlock puts the test tube he’s been holding back in the wooden holder, before he scratches absent-mindedly at his arm Mycroft feels like he’s in a nightmare, except this is real, so very real, and his breath jerks in his chest, before he says in a strangled voice, “Show me your arm.”

 

“No,” is Sherlock’s immediate reaction, before he stands up quickly now, holding the arm he’d just scratched at with his hand. 

 

So Mycroft takes a couple of steps forwards now, his eyes on Sherlock’s the whole time, as he tries again, “Sherlock”-

 

But, _“No!”_ Sherlock growls defensively, moving a little around the table so that the distance in between himself and Mycroft increases, then, “I haven’t been using and I never touched your phone!” he says and as something flashes across Mycroft’s face now as he remembers about why he’d felt uneasy in the first place, Sherlock asks, “Why did you think I’d been through it anyway?”

 

So Mycroft takes him in for a moment, takes in the stiff posture and the eyes that hold curiosity as well as suspicion, and how Sherlock is still cradling his arm as if he doesn't trust Mycroft with it. And such things tell him that he won’t be able to get any further in finding out what’s going on with Sherlock until he’s more open himself. So his eyes move up from where they've been lingering on Sherlock’s arm and back up to his brother’s face, before he supplies a little stiffly, “Because F/N’s not in my contact list any more.”

 

And Sherlock stares at him now, his brows furrowed and a puzzled look upon his face, before he asks, “Who’s F/N?”

 

“F/N’s my”- Mycroft begins at once, but then he has to break off because he can’t remember and he doesn't know what you are to him any more and that makes him panic even more because he should know, he _should_ know! -

 

But, “Wake up! Wake up! Come on, wake up!” an impatient voice interrupts the nightmare and suddenly Mycroft’s waking up for real, a gasp escaping his parted lips as he does so, a sheen of sweat on his face, his heart racing erratically in his chest and his body tangled in the bed sheet, to find Sherlock’s hands on his cheeks and his blue eyes staring at him with an unblinking determination. 

 

And as Mycroft struggles instinctively to sit up now Sherlock lets go of him and shuffles back a little to give him a bit more room as he does so. 

 

Then, “I-I don’t…” Mycroft gets out now because nothing makes sense, and then he remembers the nightmare and his eyes bulge a little as they fix on Sherlock’s, before, _“F/N?”_ he questions urgently. 

 

And a tiny smile appears on Sherlock’s face now, though he still looks unusually worried as he tries to reassure him, “She’s fine. She’s probably just resting now, before she gets married to you tomorrow.”

 

And Mycroft’s breathing calms down a little now, before as he begins to look around wildly Sherlock instinctively grabs Mycroft’s phone off the bedside cabinet and scrolls through the contact list hurriedly with swift, nimble fingers. Then when he comes to a stop on your details he shoves the screen in front of his brother’s face. 

 

Mycroft just stares at it for a moment, taking in the familiar sequence of numbers and focusing particularly hard on your name above it. Then he lets out a little breath and nods so Sherlock puts the phone back down on the bedside cabinet. 

 

Then for a moment they just stare at each other until, “I-I,” Mycroft gets out because he feels that he should try and explain his nightmare but he doesn't know how to. 

 

Sherlock though knows him well enough to decipher, “You dreamt that you didn't have her number any more? That it was almost like none of this had happened?”

 

And, “Yes,” Mycroft nods now. 

 

But, “Well, it has happened and tomorrow you’re going to marry her,” Sherlock tells him firmly, his voice sounding loud in the quiet room. 

 

And Mycroft lets out another little breath now, whilst a single tear slides down his face. 

 

Then Sherlock swallows for he’s half-torn between going over there and shaking his brother by his shoulders, or even hugging him in a rare show of affection, because Mycroft looks so haunted and lost right now and of course not doing any of that, especially not the hugging part, because it is not the way they are with each other. And in the end all he says is, “You should get some rest,” before he turns, switches the light back off and walks out of the room, closing the door almost fully behind him. 

 

Mycroft just stares at the spot where Sherlock disappeared from for a moment, before he lets out another little breath and then slides back down into bed. 

 

His next sleep is a dreamless one thank God and when he wakes and pulls his dressing gown on it is only when he slips out of his room and sees Sherlock by the table that the night’s events come back to him. 

 

And for a moment, taken aback by the fact that he could ever have forgotten such a thing, he just stops and stares at his brother. Then, “Thank you for last night,” he tells Sherlock and Sherlock just nods whilst his eyes drift back down to his chemicals and so, with the moment acknowledged, Mycroft goes across to the bathroom to begin to get ready. 

 

*

 

It is the waiting around that does it, Mycroft concludes, as he alternates between sitting next to Sherlock in the bright room at the beautiful mansion house that he will marry you in and standing and running his hand through his hair. And as he sits with a thud next to Sherlock for what feels like the thousandth time, Sherlock, who predicted such anxiety, draws out a comb from the jacket of his suit and a small, square mirror so that Mycroft can fix his hair _again_. After all, Mycroft thinks as he tends to his hair, it’s not like he doesn't know that you’ll be coming and that you would never just leave him there. But all this waiting around just makes everything seem so… _intense_ …and like anything could be a possibility. And he pauses his thoughts for a moment now so he can turn his head this way and that, before satisfied he passes both the comb and the mirror back to Sherlock, and then thinks some more. He knows too that it is tradition for the bride to be late to the wedding but he knows too that you’d feel most uncomfortable about making him any more anxious than he needs to be and so as he acknowledges both these things and checks the time he can’t understand what’s taking you so long. And his hands go up to fidget with his light blue cravat now so Sherlock bats them away with his own, before he hisses, “Will you stop fidgeting? At this rate you’ll look a right mess by the time she gets here”-

 

“What if”- Mycroft begins to interrupt without being able to help it, for what if you aren't coming? What if you've changed your mind? Or decided that you could do so much better than him? Or that you deserve more than he could ever give you?

 

And, “Oh no,” Sherlock grows darkly now, “I am _not_ letting you make everything into a drama today.”

 

But, “Isn't that what we do?” Mycroft asks him wanly. 

 

So, “She’ll be here,” Sherlock tells him firmly now. 

 

And a moment later you are and as Sally, one of your bridesmaids of course along with Matilda, comes to tell Sherlock that everyone’s ready at their end, Sherlock gives Mycroft a little satisfied look as if to say, ‘I told you so.’

 

So Mycroft, feeling a little light-headed from it all takes a little breath, before he stands up and brushes away all the invisible dust that has gathered on his dark suit in the time that they've been waiting. 

 

Then, a moment later as the traditional music starts, Mycroft turns tentatively and a moment later he lets out another little breath as he sees you. 

 

For you’re wearing the most striking dress, it’s one that suits you perfectly and one that makes you look more beautiful than he has ever seen you and as you come down the aisle towards him on Kurt’s arm and shoot him a small smile he can’t believe that you’re actually here and that you’re actually going to be marrying _him_. And suddenly he feels so inadequate. For he can’t know that when you saw him and took every inch of him in, from his heavily polished shoes to the crisp dark suit, the silver waistcoat, that your fingers already itch to pull off and the light blue cravat that matches his eyes perfectly you just felt amazed by the fact that this wonderful, handsome, intelligent man would, in a few minutes, be your husband.

 

And then suddenly you’re there and Kurt is nodding at him and shaking his hand and then his eyes are on you again and he finds himself nodding slightly, before the words, “F/N M/N L/N,” spill out of his lips. 

 

And a smile quirks your lips now, before, “Mycroft Holmes,” you nod and then the moment’s broken and a small giggle escapes your lips, whilst he looks at you lovingly. 

 

Then a little later once the service has begun and the words that legalize the marriage have been said you both move on to say your vows and this is the least traditional part of the wedding, for rather than saying traditional vows you have decided upon a passage that you both found to be more appropriate. 

 

So, “F/N M/N L/N, today I take you for my wife. I promise to love you without reservation, comfort you in times of distress, encourage you to achieve all of your goals, laugh with you and cry with you, grow with you in mind, and spirit, always be open and honest with you, and cherish you for as long as we both shall live,” Mycroft tells you earnestly as he looks straight into your eyes and your breath hitches in your chest as he does so. 

 

And as you repeat the words back to him somewhere in the background Dorothea nods serenely, Matilda and Mummy cry, Mycroft’s father passes a handkerchief to his wife, Penny, the flower girl, squeals and shifts restlessly by where she stands next to Matilda, Kurt’s heart pounds anxiously in his chest and Sally lets out a little breath and her eyes meet Sherlock’s, who looks calmly satisfied, as she does so. 

 

Then after the exchanging of the rings in which Mycroft takes your hand tenderly in his and caresses it momentarily, before he slips the ring onto your finger and in which your breath hitches in your chest slightly as with slightly trembling hands you slip the ring onto his, comes the moment that you've both been waiting for. The one where Mycroft and you are pronounced husband and wife. And he has barely finished being told that he can kiss you, before his hands are encircling your waist and his lips are on yours, whilst your hands climb up to rest upon his chest. 

 

*

 

The reception is being held in a different room at the same venue and in between all the photos the pair of you are going around, hand in hand, to talk to everyone, when Sally comes to stand in front of you. 

 

You can feel Mycroft’s body tense up a little and his hand go more stiff in yours and it appears that Sally senses some sort of a change too, for something like recognition flickers in her eyes, before she tells you both, “Congratulations.”

 

And, “Thank you,” Mycroft nods, before he can’t help but add, “Coming from you that means a great deal,” and you kick his shin a little with your foot, which causes him to yelp out and look at you sharply. 

 

So to cover the moment you move forwards to hug Sally and to tell her, “Thank you,” in a far more sincere fashion. And then when Sally has let go of you, nodded and smiled awkwardly at Mycroft and left, you look up at him and say, “She’s my friend you know.”

 

And, “I know,” he tells you tiredly as he rubs a hand across his face, before, “I'm sorry,” he adds, not wanting to upset you, “It’s just whenever I look at her or hear her name I can’t help but think of all the times she tried to poison you against me.”

 

“Yes, but I also had your number from her, so if it wasn't for her then none of this would have even been possible in the first place,” you comment reasonably. 

 

And that leaves Mycroft with no choice but to respond, “I’ll try to remember that in the future,” for of course he can’t dispute it. 

 

“Good,” you smile, before you can’t help but ask sneakily, “So what does my name make you think of?”

 

“Beauty,” Mycroft replies at once and you let out a little laugh now, before you shove him slightly, so, “No, it really does,” Mycroft protests. 

 

And, “Come on you,” you tell him, before you grab his hand and lead him across the room. 

 

But you barely move two steps, before Dorothea’s in front of you. And she hugs you briefly now and reaches across to pat Mycroft on the arm, before she leans back a bit to say, “It was a wonderful service dears.”

 

“Oh thank you,” you reply. 

 

And she pats you on the hand now, before she says, “I’ll make you both a candle to remember the day by,” and totters off once more. 

 

And Mycroft and you exchange a look; neither of you quite knowing what to think of Dorothea even after all this time, though of course you will always be grateful for what she’d told you just after the dance book. 

 

Then you begin to move forwards once more, but, “F/N!” A voice cuts through to you now and you stop and turn to see Matilda waving you both over from where she’s sitting with Penny on her lap by one of the tall windows, whilst Kurt stands next to them. 

 

So you look at Mycroft, who just smiles and nods, because really he has no choice in the matter, before you drag him over there instead. 

 

And, “Oh F/N I know I've told you this already but you look amazing,” Matilda says, before she moves Penny off her lap and onto the floor so that she can stand and sweep you up into her arms. Then as she sits back down and picks Penny up again she can’t help but add, “And Uncle Mycroft looks very handsome too, doesn't he Penny?” before she looks up at Kurt, who has opened his mouth automatically at the words, but of course he can’t say anything in protest now because it’s true. Mycroft really is Uncle Mycroft. And you squeeze Mycroft’s hand now and grin a little as you take that in. 

 

Then Kurt looks at Mycroft, before, “Take care of her,” he says and Mycroft nods. 

 

But, “Oh Kurt,” Matilda says as if her husband and your brother _really_ is hopeless. Then she asks, “He’s done a pretty good job so far hasn't he?”

 

And Kurt looks at her for a moment, before he looks back up at Mycroft, and then at you, and then his eyes flick back to Mycroft once more as he admits, “Y-Yeah,” and everyone seems to let out a breath of relief, before you all exchange smiles, even with Kurt who’s smiling shakily. And then he’s pulling you into a hug and you let go of Mycroft’s hand now so that you can hug him back. And as you do you smile because finally Kurt seems to have accepted Mycroft and it really couldn't have happened on a better day. 

 

*

 

Things seem to be busy all the time after that, what with all the photos and the eating. And then after all the eating, of course, it’s time for the speeches. 

 

So after a quick check around to make sure that everyone has actually finished eating and are just drinking and chatting Mycroft leans across you a little to exchange a glance with Sherlock and then Sherlock nods, before he stands and taps on a wine glass with a spoon to get everyone’s attention. 

 

The dull roar becomes a low thrum and then finally silence as everyone shifts and turns to look at Sherlock. 

 

Then, “Ladies and gentlemen I give you the groom,” Sherlock announces, before he waves a hand at Mycroft who nods at him and then stands as Sherlock sits back down. 

 

And for a moment Mycroft takes everyone in as they take him in and the somewhat tense silence makes you swallow and shift nervously in your seat. And you’re not sure if your action encourages Mycroft to speak but in any case in the next moment he says, “Firstly I wish to thank you all for coming today,” and he pauses a little now, no doubt for dramatic effect, which makes you roll your eyes a little, before he goes on, “Secondly I’d like to talk about my wife,” and you smile a little now, whilst Matilda lets out an, “Aww,” and Mycroft’s mother begins to dab at her eyes again. Then Mycroft looks at you and feeling his eyes on you, you look up at him and he sends you a swift smile, before he looks out at his audience once more. And, “I'm not sure how many of you will know this about me,” Mycroft goes on cautiously, before he adds with a touch of humour, “My brother in any case will be aware of it, but I've never been very good with feelings,” and as Sherlock nods confidently now a polite chuckle ripples around the room and Mycroft smiles a little, before he goes on quite seriously, “So it is of no exaggeration, for me to say that when I first came into contact with F/N something began to change inside me,” and another, “Aww,” fills the room and Mycroft, with a sheepish sort of smile tugging at his lips, nods, before he looks down to see that you’re looking up at him with wonder in your eyes now so he smiles tenderly at you. Then, “At first, I must admit, I was a little apprehensive of feeling in such a way. I wasn't used to relying on someone’s contact with me to feel happy and I most definitely wasn't used to wanting to hear from anyone as I had so badly begun to with F/N. So of course I made some mistakes along the way as I fell in love with her,” and he reaches down to grasp your hand in his now, before, “So I want to make F/N another vow in front of you all today, and that is although I will no doubt make more mistakes I promise you F/N,” and your eyes fix on each other’s now, “That I will always have your best interests at heart through it all and that I will always love you, for I can’t imagine how I could ever love anyone else”- and he breaks off now as you stand up, turn ever so slightly and tug him down by his cravat into a kiss. 

 

Cheers and whistles erupt now and as you smile into the kiss you can almost see Sherlock rolling his eyes, before he stands up and says, “Yes, yes, lovely, now it’s time for my speech.”

 

And Mycroft and you break apart, your faces slightly flushed and your eyes only seeing each other, before you both smile at each other and sit back down. 

 

Then Sherlock clears his throat and waits for the utmost silence to descend and as he does so Mycroft’s hand slips to rest on the top of your leg and you smile at him. 

 

Then, “As my brother said, he is absolutely rubbish with feelings,” Sherlock begins and there’s a smattering of laughter, particularly from Matilda, whilst Kurt, you notice, looks bemused. “In fact, because of such a thing, he has made the worst big brother on the planet,” and you bite on your lip now, before you can’t help but slyly look at Mycroft to see what expression is on his face and to your pleasure a small smile is tugging on his lips. And, “Oh, there are many things I could tell you that would demonstrate how true that statement is. For example I could say that he used to read me the most terrifying stories as a child, or that he still delights now, as he did then, in calling me stupid,” and now Sherlock pauses so that he can turn his head to share an amused look with Mycroft, before he faces the front once more and goes on, “But, actually, there is a lot of evidence to contest the statement that I could tell you about too,” and now as Sherlock pauses for dramatic effect you turn your head slightly to see that Mycroft’s head is now tilted to one side slightly as he listens. “And a lot of that evidence comes from the last two years, or rather, to put it more bluntly, since my brother first came into contact with F/N,” and another “Aww,” goes up now and Mycroft squeezes your leg a little, though when you look at him his head is still tilted away. “Now, I don’t expect you all to know this. Sally will though, hi Sally!” and he gives a little sarcastic wave now and you snort as Sally wrinkles her nose in distaste, whilst Mycroft’s shoulders tense up a little, “But on the odd occasion, or always actually, because the police are always useless, I help them with some cases. Naturally though when I first started and for a long time after my brother was against the entire concept of it ever being something I could make a career out of,” and he pauses a little again, “But then came F/N with her dreams of becoming a writer,” and now he turns slightly to smile at you, before he looks back out once more, “And my brother, with his growing feelings for her, was forced to suddenly re-evaluate his thoughts. Something which, you should all be made aware of, doesn't happen very often,” and a smattering of laughter darts around the room once more. Then, “And so for a time he became a little more lenient with me about the whole thing. That was until I did something very stupid indeed. And although I won’t go into it now, I know that both my brother and F/N will be aware of what I mean, and it’s really here, I suppose, that the evidence for Mycroft not being the worst brother in the world comes into play. For, and I'm not ashamed to say this, he looked after me and put up with more in that one summer then he should ever have had to. So,” and now he pauses to take a little breath, “I’d like us all, ladies and gentlemen, to raise our first toast of the evening,” and then Sherlock raises his glass and says, “To the best big brother in the world, Mycroft Holmes,” and as a chorus of Mycroft’s name goes around the room Sherlock turns his head to nod at Mycroft, who nods at him and smiles in return. Then, “Now I know everyone was perhaps hoping that was the end of my speech. But I'm afraid I still have more that I’d like to say. This time, not about my brother, but his new wife F/N,” and now your breath catches a little apprehensively in your chest, for what on earth will Sherlock say next? And Sherlock looks at you now, before he smiles a little as he continues, “There’s no need to look so scared F/N!” and as laughter bounds through the room now like an overexcited puppy you look a little sheepish, whilst Mycroft moves his hand from your leg to put it protectively around your waist. “Although,” Sherlock admits now, “If I’d just married my brother then”- and he breaks off now when Mycroft clears his throat very loudly. Then, “Ah, of course, but no, there’s really no need to look scared. You see I actually wanted to take this time to thank you F/N. And the reason I wanted to thank you is because you've single-handedly made my brother the happiest he’s ever been,” and he pauses now to look into your eyes and although you feel embarrassed you force yourself to meet his gaze, then, “So,” Sherlock says as he looks away from you now, “I’d like us all, ladies and gentlemen, to make our second toast of the evening. To F/N,” and now as he lifts his glass and everyone chants out your name you duck your head a little and Mycroft leans across to kiss you on the cheek. Then, “I think that’s it,” Sherlock announces, “So, before I think of anything else, I’d like to hand over to the brother of the bride.”

 

Kurt gets up now and brushes himself down a little anxiously, before he catches your eye and then he smiles a crooked kind of smile, before he admits, “I have to confess that I haven’t always been the biggest fan of your relationship, but then you both know that,” and Kurt nods at you now, whilst your breath catches a little in your chest again and Mycroft’s hand tightens its grip on your waist. “And I have to admit, I wasn't exactly the most pleased person in the world when Mycroft came around one day and wanted my permission to ask you to marry him,” and tense smiles fill the room now, before, “I think I actually said no to begin with,” and you look sharply at Mycroft now, who nods his head a fraction to confirm such a thing but doesn't look at you and you sigh inwardly at Kurt now, “But when I look at you today F/N and see how happy you are and how happy he makes you, I'm really glad I didn't. In fact I'm really, really glad I didn't because I know now how much in love you both are with each other, and although I think its taken me until today to see it, I think you've got something very special. So I want you both to know, that when I congratulate you now, I really do mean it. So, congratulations,” and as your brother raises his glass to you both and another murmur runs around the room, you smile at him, whilst Mycroft’s hand relaxes on your waist. 

 

A little later comes the cutting of the three-tiered red velvet wedding cake, which instead of the traditional bride and groom figurines on top has two edible phones resting against each other to symbol how your relationship with each other started. And on one of the screens there is the word, ‘Love,’ whilst the other has the word, ‘You.’ And it is during this cutting of the cake that Mycroft’s hand rests gently on yours on top of the knife as he looks down at you fondly and you, with your body half-turned, look up at him in wonder. 

 

Then a little while later comes your first dance as a married couple and you know that it sounds silly, even in your head, because of course everyone has been looking at Mycroft and you all day, but somehow this has become the part that you've built up most in your mind because it is at this point where not only will everyone’s eyes be fixed on you both again but you’ll be somehow expected to dance too. 

 

Thankfully though Mycroft seems to sense your hesitance and so he takes the lead and offers you his hand, before he takes you to the middle of the dance floor, whilst everyone circles around the pair of you expectantly. Then as your heart jumps a little when the soft music of Sherlock’s violin begins to play-this time a classical composition that combines both Mycroft and your favourite songs together-Mycroft puts his other hand on your waist, whilst your free hand darts up to clutch at his shoulder and you begin to move together slowly. 

 

And at first, feeling a little tense and anxious about the whole thing you find it hard to relax, let alone keep your eyes on Mycroft, so after swallowing he squeezes your hand with his more tightly and then once you look at him he smiles encouragingly at you. 

 

Then he leans forward a little to murmur in your ear, “I'm not exactly enjoying this either,” and immediately a small smile lights up your face, before you begin to feel more relaxed. 

 

And the rest of the dance goes far more smoothly, with the pair of you getting more adventurous as you both feel more relaxed and so Mycroft twirls you about, lifts you a little off the floor completely and spins you, leaving you breathless, before the dance ends, as it has now become tradition for it to, with Mycroft dipping you. 

 

And this time, unlike the time in Kurt and Matilda’s garden, when your eyes meet and his breath flutters against your skin he draws you up to him to kiss you and as he does so all the clapping and cheering seems to fade away and you could be at your flat again, during the first time you met, when your skin touched each other’s for the first time and your lips found his. 

 

You finally pull away from him with a bit of a gasp. And then after a small smile at you, he lets go of you and you adjust your hair a little as you begin to lead the way off the floor, whilst everyone else seems to go in the opposite direction so that they can dance. 

 

But then you feel a hand on your arm so you start a little, whilst your hand drops down to your side, before you turn your head to see who it is. 

 

Mummy’s stood there beaming at you with Mycroft’s father, and you feel Mycroft’s hand come to rest on the small of your back now as he comes to stand by you. 

 

Then, “Oh, you both looked so lovely dancing with each other. I was just saying that I think we should make it a tradition that every Christmas, when you come to stay, you both do a little dance for us,” Mummy tells you both enthusiastically. 

 

And you look up at Mycroft now as if to ask, _‘We’ll be staying there every Christmas? Since when did that become a thing?’_ and _‘I'm not really sure about dancing every time,’_ before you look back at Mummy and say, “Thank you and um, yes, that might be nice,” as politely as you can. 

 

Mycroft, who has read your real feelings easily, however says, “I think we both might be a little too nervous to give such performances every Christmas Mummy,” before he hurriedly backtracks when she opens her mouth, “But I'm sure we could give one for you every other year,” and you roll your eyes. 

 

Then, “Oh yes, talking about performances I wanted to tell you both to do your best to make me a grandchild tonight”-

 

 _“Mummy!”_ Mycroft splutters in a horrified fashion, whilst you go bright red and shift your position a little, before you turn your head away from everyone in embarrassment. 

 

“Now don’t be so embarrassed about it Mycroft, you know I'm only telling you because of how much I want one and I'm hardly going to get it from another source any time soon now am I?” and now as she pauses naturally all your eyes go to Sherlock, who is taking his time it seems in packing away his violin on the main stage, before Mummy turns back to you both once more as she returns to her mission and asks Mycroft sharply, “Don’t you think F/N would make a good mother?”

 

And, “Of course, but that’s hardly the point,” Mycroft splutters in a flustered fashion. 

 

But, “Well there hardly seems to be a problem then, so what’s stopping you?” Mummy persists, whilst you smile awkwardly at her as she looks at you both and grow more and more uncomfortable.

 

And Mycroft looks at you for a moment, before he leans a little closer to Mummy and hisses, “Aside from the fact that F/N’s brother would be most displeased if she became pregnant right now”-

 

“Oh he’d get over it, I'm sure”- Mummy interrupts him, waving a hand now.

 

“There’s the small fact that we've never discussed the matter of having children,” Mycroft finishes and Mummy looks disappointed now. 

 

But before she can make a comeback Sherlock, thankfully, comes over and so Mummy turns her focus on him instead when she says, “It was a wonderful composition dear.”

 

And, “Yes, thank you brother dear,” Mycroft tells him and the pair shake hands and pat each other’s arms now, before Sherlock’s gaze falls on you. 

 

So, “It was beautiful,” you tell him. 

 

And, “As beautiful as the first one?” he asks you knowingly and you smile now, because of course nothing could ever be as beautiful as that and you both know it but oddly it doesn't matter. For that song was perfect for a private moment between Mycroft and you, whilst this one was more appropriate in front of a crowd. 

 

And then as Mummy and Mycroft’s father send you both fond, warm looks, before they drift off Mycroft’s body seems to sag a little, before he tells Sherlock, “Your timing was impeccable.”

 

So Sherlock smiles now, before, “Yes,” he agrees, “I thought I’d give her a moment, before I came over but I could tell that you were both getting more and more uncomfortable so I decided that maybe my presence was needed sooner than I’d intended for it to be.”

 

And, “It was,” Mycroft groans, before he looks at you and says regretfully, “I'm sorry you had to be there for such words.”

 

But, “It’s not your fault,” you say, attempting to smile at him, but you still feel a little awkward about the whole thing so in the end it is only half-a-smile, which he receives.

 

So, “Pushing for grandchildren already is she?” Sherlock guesses as he darts forward momentarily to grab a glass of champagne off a tray that’s being carried by a waiter, before he leans back and sips at it a little. 

 

“Yes,” Mycroft breathes, sounding weary of the whole thing already.

 

So, “You should be glad she hasn't taken it any further and locked you both in a room until you”- Sherlock says, before the full reality of what he’s suggesting hits him so he breaks off, whilst a disgusted expression takes over his face. Then he groans, “Ah, excuse me, I think I just need to get that idea out of my head by walking it off,” and he strides away now, holding his champagne with one hand and his temple with the other. 

 

And both Mycroft and you chuckle, before his hands slip around your waist as he shifts to stand behind you and you lean against his chest, your hands moving to cling onto where his arms cross over, feeling content to just watch your family and friends enjoying themselves rather than join in yourself.

 

*

 

It’s a lot later and the room is almost deserted with many people having either retired to the rooms that they’ll be staying in for the night or having left early to make the journey home when Mycroft takes your hand and leads you through the side doors onto a little concrete area that has a small, stone wall a few feet in front of you with steps either side of it that lead up to the main gardens. It is dark now but the light from the doors you just came through spills out in a triangle of light to illuminate your faces and attire to each other, whilst a thousand stars shine in the dark navy sky above you. And both of you, your hands no longer joined, just take in a little breath of the cool night air and gaze at the stars for a moment. 

 

Then Mycroft turns his head to the side so that he may look at you and his eyes glitter in the low light as he does so, before he murmurs, “I meant to congratulate you earlier on our anniversary Mrs. Holmes.”

 

And a smile tugs at your lips now at being called that by him, before a little breath escapes you as you take in the fact that it has been two years since your first phone call with him. Two years since you heard that voice for the first time. Two years since all of this today even became a possibility and you look at him now. Then, “In that case I must also congratulate you Mr. Holmes,” you tell him and his heart jumps pleasantly in his chest at your words. 

 

Then you look back at the stars again and although Mycroft does the same for a moment, it isn't long, before his eyes slide to you once more and he finds himself admiring the way the light brings out the curve of your cheek more and the way it makes your eyes sparkle, whilst he wonders what you’re thinking.

 

Then when you look at him again his eyes dart to your lips briefly, before they fix on yours again as he asks, “Bed?” hopefully.

 

And, “Bed,” you agree with a small smile. 

 

So he smiles a little at you again and takes your hand in his. Then he leads you back through the doors and across the now deserted dance floor, before you have to weave through the circular tables together so that you can finally leave the room. 

 

And as you pass in between the tables you also pass the small, square, laminated pieces of paper that have occupied each table the whole day and which have a pretty blue frame drawn around the words: _Once upon a time there was a man called Mycroft Holmes and a beautiful woman called F/N M/N L/N. Their story has been a full and vibrant one already. For it has been full of happy moments such as the thrill of getting to know each other through the course of such random questions like, ‘What are each other’s favourite cakes?’ to meeting each other for the first time and taking the first tentative steps to being fully committed to each other. Sad ones such as the despair that Mycroft felt when he’d made a mistake that he’d thought had cost him F/N and when F/N then had to make the choice about whether to turn away from him forever or not. Trying ones such as the usual anxiety in meeting each other’s family for the first time and in finding the rhythm of their new romantic relationship with each other. And it has taken them a long time already to reach this point therefore. And what is this point you ask? Why of course the point of the story where we can now be officially bold enough to state that Mycroft Holmes and F/N M/N L/N will live happily ever after with each other._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it. :) 
> 
> Gosh there's a lot of things I'd like to say now. 
> 
> Firstly I want to raise a thank you toast to each and every one of you for all the support, not to mention for all the dramatic reactions I received after chapter six, which made me grin and just for being amazing all around with all the kind words you have given me. :) When I was writing this I grew very attached to these versions of Mycroft and Reader and this fic has come to mean a lot to me so in turn it means a great deal that you've all helped make this my most successful fan fiction to date. So thank you all. :) 
> 
> Secondly, and this is sounding very much like Mycroft's speech now, just in case any of you are wondering about why Reader and Mycroft still weren't living together by the time they got married my thoughts on the matter are that they would have started looking for a place together after the drama and expense of the wedding was taken care of. :) Also I didn't write the wedding vows used and I haven't been able to establish who did originally I just found them on-line. :) 
> 
> Lastly I'm currently editing and going through another Mycroft/Reader fan fiction, which I've written, this time one that's set at university, and I'm hoping to start posting it in the next couple of weeks or so. So hopefully some of you will join me for that. :) 
> 
> Thank you. :)


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